


Of Lions and Wolves

by ladydurin_x



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Original Character-centric, Some Small Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2018-11-20 14:13:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11337144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydurin_x/pseuds/ladydurin_x
Summary: Martenya Flowers has a very important role to play in the war raging between the Starks and the Lannisters. The only problem is she's beginning to forget which side she's supposed to be on.





	1. I Don't Know What She's After

**Author's Note:**

  * For [handofsilver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/handofsilver/gifts).



> I've decided to revamp 'Beautiful Disaster' and add more AU elements to it, and just overall improve the writing. There are so many things in the original that I really don't like, and don't make much sense. 
> 
> Original Character Faceclaims:
> 
> Cersanne Lannister/Martenya Flowers - Celina Sinden  
> Willow - Hera Hilmar  
> Meya - Scarlett Johansson
> 
> July, this one is for you. Thank you for everything (and for letting me write about Willow and Meya)!

_“This above all: to thine own self be true.”_

_-_ William Shakespeare's Hamlet

* * *

 

In her extensive experience, whenever Cersanne’s parents demanded her presence, it was bad news.

Every single time. Without fail; Walder’s favourite hound had died and they must keep it a secret, Cleos and Jeyne were visiting, Tion had broken his wrist.

Usually, however, Cersanne wasn’t summoned alone.

As Steffon gave her the news, she turned to Walder who looked as stunned as she felt.

“Why can’t _I_ go?”

Cersanne plastered a smile on her face as she turned her attention to him. “It’s top secret.” She reached up to ruffle his hair, something he had hated her doing since his fifth nameday, and something she had vowed she would do even when they were both old and grey. Even if it took more effort now, since his growth spurt after his twelfth nameday had left her constantly straining her neck to look up at him.

He scowled at her, swatting her hand away. “I’m not a child, Cersanne.”

She nodded. “I know. In truth, I wish you could come with me. I’m nervous, you know what Mother can be like.” She turned to Steffon who was doing his best not to smile. “Take me to my parents, Steffon.”

* * *

 

Apprehension gnawed at her, making her stomach flip, as Steffon opened the door to her father’s study. She bowed lowly to her father, as ever caught off guard by his appearance.

He was such a small man, and the giant wooden desk he sat behind did little to disguise this fact. His bald little head was barely visible. That he was sitting beside her giant of a mother helped his cause even less.

Sometimes, Cersanne wondered if she was really related to either of them. Even she had heard the rumours about her mother, not that she would dare ask her about them. It was only when she caught sight of her reflection, more significantly the reflection of her hair, that her doubts subsided. Lannister gold. Whatever the truth of her parentage, whatever her last name. She was a Lannister.

The sunlight was bouncing off her father’s head as he angled his head to get a proper look at her. He smiled weakly, his nervous hands fidgeting as he looked to her mother.

His smile dropped the moment her mother stood, anything resembling pleasantries forgotten as she appraised her daughter.

“Let’s have a look at you.”

Cersanne held her head high, not wanting to give her mother anything to complain about.

The older woman narrowed her shrewd eyes, brushing aside her long blonde hair; the only trait Cersanne had inherited from either of her parents. “Shapely enough, wouldn’t you agree, Emmon.”

Her father nodded meekly. She had never had him disagree with her mother in her entire life. Not even over the wine they were drinking at supper. “I hear she’s flowered?”

Her mother all but rolled her eyes. “Of course she has, Emmon. She’s not a child. The only reason she remains unmarried is this damn war distracting my brother from finding her an appropriate match. She’s always been the most attractive of our children. Don’t you remember, when she was still at the breast your father himself predicted it. Said she’d be the prettiest girl in the Lannister family since my niece was born.”

Cersanne blushed. Despite her misgivings as to why she was there, hearing her mother complimenting her was rarity she readily welcomed.

“You are to go to King’s Landing, Cersanne.”

And there it was. All the confirmation she needed that her unease had been warranted. Her stomach knotted “Mother?”

“You have been requested by Cersei. On behalf of the king himself.”

The words gave Cersanne pause. It had been years since she’d last been to the capital. She couldn’t remember the occasion, just hating the hustle and bustle. And she remembered hating Joffrey even more.

“I don’t understand. Joffrey is to marry Sansa Stark.”

“Of course you don’t. She’s beautiful but almost as dim-witted as you, Emmon.” Her father made no move to defend himself. Cersanne supposed after so many years of being beaten down by her mother that he’d just given up. “You are not to marry Joffrey, stupid girl, your cousin has a much more important task for you. “This task is one of the utmost importance to securing the future of our family. All you have to know for the time being is that we have given our approval and you will not let us down.”

* * *

 

Cersanne looked back at her home, a heavy weight on her heart as she turned away, facing the road before her.

Something in the back of her head told her she would never see the place again. The thought didn’t make her as sad as she’d anticipated. She supposed she would miss her parents, or at least that it was expected she would. She couldn’t be sure.

There was something about Casterly Rock that had never felt like home to her. She just wished she knew what it was. Perhaps it was the hushed awe with which she heard the common folk speak of the place, or rather, those who lived within its walls. Hearing them always made Cersanne roll her eyes. If only they knew the truth about those who lived there.

The Rock had always intimidated her. She had heard talk that the place was near three times the size of The Wall that her cousin Tyrion so longed to see. Too large, in Cersanne's opinion. Not that anyone had ever asked, or even cared what she thought.

Everything she was looking at made her glad to be leaving; the craggy rock, the inhabitants, the history. It was too much. Too overwhelming.

She touched her necklace; a gift from Walder for her fourteenth nameday. It wasn’t anything particularly special; a pendant in the shape of a roaring lioness. He’d told her it was similar to one he’d seen their cousin wearing during a trip to King’s Landing. It was the most thoughtful gift anyone had ever given her. She remembered the look on her parent’s faces when they saw it. The subtle pride of her mother’s pride, and the resigned protestation of her father that she was a Frey. She supposed there was at least one person she’d miss.

With one, final, lingering glance as she rode through The Lion’s Mouth, she said goodbye to the only home she had ever known and steeled herself for whatever awaited her in King’s Landing.

If she ever made it that far.

The road to the capital was long and treacherous. She had heard tales; from both Cleos and other, more reliable, sources of the dangers that awaited those that made the journey. As a child, desperate to escape the stifling tension of Casterly Rock, the idea had seemed exciting. Now, as a near grown woman, who was not so naive as her mother seemed intent on believing, the idea was far less compelling.

Her guard, Glendon, appeared next to her. A man that had been by her side since she was toddling round the castle. His hair was far greyer now than it had been then, and he must have been closer to sixty than the forty he had always claimed since Cersanne had first found the courage to ask on her ninth nameday. Even so, he remained strong as an ox and fiercely loyal to her and her family. His presence was at once comforting and jarring - he made the whole thing seem real. “Are you ready, My Lady?”

She nodded once, nudging her horse, urging them onwards.

* * *

 

The ride to King’s Landing, though long and exhausting, was, to her combined relief, and surprise, not half as dramatic as she had feared. In fact, it had been almost completely uneventful. Sure, there had been some beggars but nothing more dramatic than that man who had thrown himself in front of her horse, injuring neither himself nor the steed, thank the gods. Even so, Cersanne breathed a sigh of relief as she urged her horse forward, through the grimy streets of the Capital.

The smell was the first thing that Cersanne noticed.

Sitting as it did over Lannisport and the Sunset Sea, Casterly Rock always smelled of the sea it sat above. Salty, rough, and dangerous - much like the man who sat as it’s Lord.

Though King’s Landing overlooked Blackwater Bay there was no such familiar scent. Instead, the Capital smelt of what Cersanne could only assume was human waste. The smell was almost matched by the dirt and beastliness of the city itself. It wasn’t half as impressive as any other city Cersanne had encountered. In truth, Cersanne could think of no other word to describe it than ugly. Truly ugly.

She was glad to note that they had almost reached the Red Keep she recognised only from her mother’s stories. It was as the imposing sight came into view that a vice-like anxiety gripped her stomach. Since her parents had summoned her all those weeks ago, no one had deigned to tell her why she was here. Why Cersei, who had never taken to her, of all people had requested her presence. Knowing her cousin, it couldn’t mean anything good.

“My Lady?” The gruff, though surprisingly gentle, voice of her guard pulled her from her reverie.

“What is it, Glendon?”

“There’s been a change of plans. You are to go to straight to The Queen.”

Cersanne paused.

She couldn’t help but feel she was being snuck into the Red Keep like a criminal. Or worse. “Very well, Glendon. Take me to her.”

She tried to keep her voice calm. Maybe Cersei just wanted to check on her after such a long journey. Cersanne swallowed down a pained laugh. Such a thing required a caring heart. Cersei’s heart didn’t seem to beat for anyone other than her children. Or her twin brother, Jaime. Not that Cersanne listened to those particular rumours. She shook all such thoughts from her head. They did her family no credit and Cersei had always been surprisingly good at reading what her younger cousin was thinking. It was a strange talent in someone who had never paid her much attention, only really deigning to acknowledge her existence in order to sneer at the idea of Cersanne ever living up to the belief that she would be as beautiful as her cousin before her.

* * *

 

An hour or so later; after she had bathed and made herself look at least somewhat presentable, even allowing her borrowed handmaid to torture her hair into one of the Southern styles that she had always hated but Cersei favoured, Cersanne found herself sitting in the Queen’s personal chambers. She sat with her hands crossed in her lap. Lacing and unlacing her fingers as she waited of her cousin to arrive. The urge to snoop was almost overwhelming. She had never thought herself to be particularly nosy, but her cousin had always been something of an enigma.

Someone to look up to and perhaps emulate, but not someone she should desire to know beyond the expected familial closeness or the respect afford to the Queen.

“Cousin.”

Cersanne turned slowly as she stood, taking in a shallow breath. She curtsied so prettily that her septa would have cried had she been there, smoothing her dress as she stood, finally meeting her cousin’s eyes. Wide, dark eyes met narrowed emerald ones.

“Your Grace.”

Cersei had always been the most strikingly beautiful woman Cersanne had ever seen. Her golden, Lannister hair was pulled into a harsh Southern style that somehow flattered her beauty even further whilst her slender figure was hugged by a scarlet gown that only added to her graceful appearance. As Cersanne took in her cousin’s beauty she felt those emerald, Lannister, eyes on her, appraising her.

“It has been entirely too long, Cersanne, but there will be time for pleasantries later. Sit, Little One.”

Cersanne nodded, taking her seat hurriedly, almost stumbling over her own feet in her haste.

“I suppose you want to know why you’re here.”

Again, Cersanne nodded meekly. Cersei smiled, a smile that would have looked comforting on anyone else, but somehow, on her cousin managed to look cruel.

She clicked her fingers in the general direction of one of her handmaids before gesturing to the empty goblets in front of them. “Wine.”

The handmaid didn’t ask Cersanne before filling her goblet. Cersanne frowned. She had never much liked the taste but knew that turning it down would only fuel her cousin’s disdain. She took a mouthful, doing her best to disguise her cringe at the sharp taste.

“As I’m sure you must be aware by now, we are at war.” She paused, as if considering her wording before sniffing in contempt and taking another long sip from her goblet. “At war with the eldest Stark pup.”

Cersanne nodded, trying not to roll her eyes at the animal terminology. The noble obsession with the images on their sigils had always seemed ridiculous to her. She supposed she might think differently if she was a proper Lannister, a real lion, rather than a Frey.

“My guard filled me in as best he could during the journey, yes.”

According to Glendon, Robb Stark had taken great offense at the imprisonment of his father, Lord Eddard Stark, after the death of the King. Cersanne couldn’t help but feel for him. He was only her age and she couldn’t help but wonder if she wouldn’t have reacted just the same in his situation. Not that she would dare voice this to Cersei, or even Glendon. Her loyalty, even the sympathy in her own mind, had to be to the Lannisters, her family, before all others.

“Your weasel of a grandfather seems set to give that boy safe passage through his land. Robb Stark is a child playing at being King.”

Cersanne sat listening silently. Still not sure quite what this had to do with her. She drank slowly from her goblet, slowly growing more accustomed to the harsh taste of its contents.

“I suppose you wonder what this has to do with you.”

Cersanne blushed. “I - yes.”

Cersei smiled, looking entirely too much like the cat that got the cream. “I have a very important task for you. I need you to go into the Stark camp. _Befriend_ him. Report back to us.”

The implication hit Cersanne like a tonne of bricks. “You want me to _seduce_ him?”

Cersei scoffed. “I would never ask you to do something like that. However, if things developed that way. Well, that is you decision.”

Cersanne was disgusted. How could her parents have agreed to this? They had implied they knew what they were agreeing to when they sent her to King’s Landing. The thought was too much. They would whore out their own daughter for a scrap more favour?

“My honour. I’d be _ruined_. No one would want me for a wife. I’d be spoiled goods.”

Cersei laughed harshly silencing Cersanne immediately. “No one would know, stupid girl. Do you think we would send you in with your real name? You will go about your task under the name Martenya Flowers. You will be a bastard from The Reach. And once it was over, you’d be married off to a suitable lord from a good family with land. You should be married already.”

Cersanne sighed. Any objection she made would surely fall upon deaf ears. Her parents had already agreed and there was no way that Cersei would have summoned her to King’s Landing without the approval of Tywin. “When do I leave?”

Cersei smiled, a genuine smile this time. “Soon. You’ll speak to my father first, he will let you know what he expects from you. Then you will be taken to the Stark encampment however he deems appropriate. You have nothing to worry about, Cersanne. We have spies within the Stark camp, no harm will come to you. That I can promise.”

“Very well, if it is what is required of me.”

“It is.”

* * *

 

Cersanne walked through Tywin’s camp frowning. It had been almost a month since Cersei had first informed her of the plan. She still had serious reservations about having agreed to her family’s plan. The idea of being used like a common whore to get information from Robb Stark made her feel physically sick.

She thought of what she knew, and had been told, of Robb Stark. According to her sources, he was very similar to his father. Noble, kind, and stubborn. And a surprisingly good soldier. Glendon had seemed surprisingly impressed as he revealed that Robb had been winning battle after battle. No one had expected such an inexperienced boy to do so well. Cersanne’s uncle must have been more than a little shocked. Cersanne hoped that she would get to experience this side of him. The moral, honourable side. That Robb Stark might be someone she could truly befriend, reason with, even. Get him to see that his war needed to end before more lives were wasted needlessly. However, Cersei’s appraisement of him was stuck in her head; a foolish boy playing at being king with no thought of the cost to others. If he had waited to find out the truth of his father’s imprisonment there may have been no need for war at all.

Cersanne didn’t know what to think. The two people she had heard described seemed so different that she couldn’t connect the two at all in her head.

_“Of all the stupid foolish things you’ve done these past months Willow!”_

The muttering pulled her from her reverie. She looked at the source; a girl, maybe a few moons older than herself. She watched as the girl hurried past her, continuing to grumble to herself.

“Excuse me?”

The girl pulled up short, turning to Cersanne with a shocked expression.

“ _Oh!_ ” She curtsied sloppily. “I’m sorry, My Lady.”

Cersanne raised a hand. “That’s quite alright. Are you well?”

“Well enough.” The girl looked at her for a moment before shaking her head, her wild, red hair, whipping about her face with the motion. “I was horribly bored so I stepped out the tent, I know I wasn’t supposed to, and now I can’t find it.”

She frowned. The idea of this girl wandering around the camp unattended worried her. Cersanne herself was protected by her the very real fear her uncle created in the troops. By the look of the girl in front of her, the torn hem of her skirts gnawed at Cersanne who longed to sew them for her, she had no such connection to protect her from the attentions of the men.

“I’ll help you find it. You shouldn’t wander the camp alone.”

She let her meaning hang in the air for a moment.

“I’m Martenya.” It had seemed like a perfect moment to try out her new identity. This girl didn’t know who she was and would probably never see her again. She needed to get used to being Martenya before she slipped up in front of Robb. What she hadn’t expected was for the name falling from her lips to feel so natural. So right. It was as if she had always been Martenya. As if she had always been meant to be her. The thought unsettled her almost as much as it relieved her.

“Willow.”

“A pleasure. Do you know which direction the tent is in?”

Willow blushed slightly. “I am with a person of rank.”

_Ah._

Immediately understanding washed over Cersanne. _Tyrion_. It had to be. None of the other men would risk something as reckless as being caught with a woman in their tent. She didn’t like to think of Tywin’s reaction to finding the girl in front of her.

“Tyrion Lannister, I presume?”

Willow nodded, looking almost embarrassed, though she held her head high as she replied. “Yes.”

Cersanne smiled, waving away any potential attempt at an explanation. “Conveniently enough, I was on my way to Tywin’s tent. Tyrion’s can’t be too far from it.”

Willow smiled her thanks, gladly falling into step with Cersanne as they headed back in the direction from which Willow had come.

“If Lord Tywin sees me…” Willow’s words came out in a troubled whisper as she toyed with her hair.

Cersanne shook her head. “I can come up with plenty of excuses. Besides, Lord Tywin’s so focused on winning this war, I'm sure he'd hardly notice you.”

Cersanne’s voice didn’t sound convincing to her own ears but Willow nodded, clearly placated enough to stop fussing with her hair. It wasn’t a long walk and soon enough Cersanne heard Willow sigh with relief.

“ _It’s that one_.”

Cersanne nodded, looking in the direction Willow was pointing.

“You must come inside. Tyrion has the best wine in the camp.”

“I’m sure he does.” Cersanne allowed Willow to lead her into the tent, grateful for the continued distraction of Willow’s company. She was surprisingly easy to talk to.

She wasn’t sure how long they sat in the tent, Willow excitedly telling Cersanne of all she had encountered since meeting Tyrion and of all the drama during their stay in The Vale whilst Cersanne nodded patiently, sipping the wine Willow had poured her happily slowly. She couldn’t afford to show up to her meeting with her uncle drunk.

“I’ve been talking for hours! You’ve barely told me anything about you, Martenya. You must have a story. No one visiting Lord Tywin could possibly have no story.”

Cersanne laughed. “True enough. I’ve been given a very important task regarding Robb Stark.”

She stopped herself, realising she had had far too much wine and was in very real danger of revealing too many details of her task to this relative stranger.

“How interesting-”

“ _Willow_.”

Both girls started, turning to see Tyrion watching them with interest.

“Cers-”

Cersanne shook her head quickly, darting her eyes in Willow’s direction, hoping her cousin’s quick intelligence wouldn’t fail her now.

Mercifully, she watched the understanding dawn on his face. “Who’s this?”

Willow laughed. “I got a lost in the camp. Martenya here was kind enough to help me find my way back.”

“Martenya must be the girl my father’s waiting for. Wait here, Willow. And this time, please stay in the tent. This camp is full of unsavoury characters.”

“None more unsavoury than you, my love.”

Cersanne bit her tongue to keep from laughing, surprised by the soft expression in Tyrion’s eyes as he smiled at Willow, whose expression mirrored his. _How interesting_.

She excused herself, thanking Willow for her company before following Tyrion from the tent, waiting until they were out of earshot of the tent.

“She’s new.”

“And hello to you, Cousin.”

Despite herself, Cersanne smiled. Tyrion had always been her favourite. His sharp wit, and shrewd mind had always drawn her to him, and he had never seemed to mind her company. It was a strange friendship. But it worked for them.

“She seems nice, Tyrion. If you hurt her, I will castrate you. With a rusty spoon if needs be.”

“My dear cousin, what do you take me for? Besides, I fear she would beat you to it.”

She laughed fondly.

 “Enough of the pleasantries; what is all this talk I hear of you and Robb Stark?”

Cersanne looked at him sharply. “Who told you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I have my sources. Secret ones. I couldn’t possibly divulge their identities. Even to you.”

She rolled her eyes before filling him in as best she could. After all, there was little she herself knew of what was expected of her.

He listened patiently as they walked, their pace slower than Cersanne would usually have liked, but every extra second before she was faced with her uncle was a gift.

“Robb Stark has always seemed like a good man. A man that doesn’t much like me, but a good man. They are all good people, the Starks. Cersanne, do not let Cersei’s judgement cloud yours,” he counselled suddenly, glancing up at her.

She was taken aback by his advice. It was the last thing she expected to hear from him, of all people. Last she’d heard, Lady Stark had been quite intently demanding his head. “I hope to have my own opinion of him. It’s just difficult when I’ve never met the man. All I have to go on are the words of others, and they are hardly fair sources.”

“I would feel the same. You know I have no reason to lie to you, and no reason to like the Starks at all, Lady Stark in particular seems quite desperate to see me dead, but I respect them. All of them. Even if the feeling is not mutual.”

Cersanne laughed before grimacing as she realised they had reached Tywin’s tent.

 “I guess this is it.”

Tyrion nodded. “Whatever happens, Cersanne,” He paused. “Remember what I’ve said to you. Don’t let my father’s words cloud your judgement. You’re a smart girl. Remember that.”

She frowned. “I will, Tyrion. I promise.”


	2. You Opened Up My Eyes

“ _And what’s he then that says I play the villain?_ ”

\- William Shakespeare's Othello.

* * *

 

After the impatient, though seemingly sincere, reassurances from her uncle, Cersanne hadn’t been expected to be dumped _here_ of all places.

Slap bang in the middle of a battlefield.

True, it wasn’t an _active_ battlefield, but it was a battlefield nonetheless.

She looked around, wondering how best to make herself useful. She had some medical knowledge, but, even at a glance, she knew that she would be little help for the men whose bodies littered the battlefield.

Most were dead, some were dying, and there were those that looked fine, but Cersanne could tell would be little use for any future battles. Their minds were damaged beyond repair.

There was nothing she could do for any of them. The only thing she could do now was to get away from the sounds of death. She looked around for someone. Anyone willing to help her to get away.

“Well, well, well. What have we ‘ere?”

She turned, startled. “Hello?” She cursed silently at how shaky her voice sounded, even to her own ears.

The answering smile was almost predatory, though she assumed it was supposed to be comforting.

_Please don’t let this be Robb Stark._

“Oh, don’t be alarmed, I’m with Robb Stark. You’re safe now.”

Cersanne frowned, still discomforted by the way the man’s eyes were trailing up and down her body. She pulled the tattered cloak her uncle had provided tighter over her chest. “Who are you?”

“Theon. Greyjoy. I’m the ward of the Starks.”

_Oh._

“I’ve heard of you.”

He grinned widely, clearly pleased at the idea of people talking about him. It occurred to her from his expression that he probably cared little whether the discussion was positive or negative. “I’ll be you have. I’m heir to the Iron Islands, one of the Ironborn. One day, I’ll be their lord.”

Cersanne didn’t know quite how to respond. Was he trying to impress her, or did he say this to every woman he met? Or maybe, only the ones he found standing alone on the battlefield.

“C’mon. I need to be heading back. If I take you to the encampment I’m sure someone will be able to get you home. Or if you want to stay I’m sure I could make room in my tent.”

Or your bed, she added silently.

She laughed uncomfortably, not wanting to insult him, or lose his help. “Thank you.”

She allowed him to help her onto his horse, a brown filly that seemed quite intent on keeping her from joining Theon on her back. She resolutely ignored the curious stares of the other men, her attention instead focusing on Theon’s wandering hands. His arm was wrapped firmly around her waist, under the pretence of keeping them both balanced on the horse. She tried not to squirm as his other hand hovered just below her breasts. She pushed it away gently, not looking at him, grateful to see the rest of the company approaching. That was when she got her first glimpse of him.

Robb Stark.

He was stern faced, but she supposed any man would be, had they just fought in a battle. He looked every inch a King. More so than Joffrey, or even Robert Baratheon. As he rode closer she got a better look at him.

He was stocky, built like a soldier, like every man she had ever met from the North. His hair was reddish brown, curling around his head. Then there was his eyes. That striking Tully blue; and determined.

Those eyes narrowed as he caught sight of her.

“What’s this?”

She tried not to take offence at the use of the word _what_. She supposed he hadn’t meant her any offense.

“I found her wandering the battlefield.”

Robb’s eyes studied her carefully. “And you just decided you’d bring her back with you?” He demanded finally. “Did you even get a name?”

Theon opened his mouth to defend himself, before shaking his head resignedly.

“I thought not. You need to learn to think with your head, Greyjoy.”

Theon merely grinned. “Just as soon as you get yours out of your arse, Stark.”

Cersanne gaped at them. The familiarity with which Theon spoke to him surprised her. They may have grown up together, but that was his king. She could only imagine how Joffrey would have reacted to the same retort.

Instead of looking annoyed, or striking his friend, however, Robb simply shook his head, seemingly biting back a grin. He looked at her properly, cocking his head. “Since my friend his forgot to ask, what _is_ your name?”

Suddenly there was a commotion, distracting the three of them before she could respond. All three of them looked in the direction of the noise.

“We have a prisoner,” Robb announced to Theon, who quickly dismounted his horse, leaving Cersanne to watch after him helplessly. She’d never had to dismount a horse without help before, especially in such inappropriate riding clothes.

Robb looked back at her, noticing her struggle to dismount. Her skirts had caught in one of the stirrups. He looked at Theon who seemed completely oblivious as he headed towards the crowd. He sighed, walking towards her.

“Can I help?”

She nodded, taking his hand gratefully, easing herself from the horse. “Thank you.”

He nodded once, before walking towards the crowd after Theon.

Ever curious, Cersanne followed after him. Clearly it was quite the occasion, the clamouring and whooping of the troops suggested their prisoner was no lowly soldier from Tywin’s ranks. She pushed through the crowd, ignoring the dirty looks the men gave her. She stifled a gasp when she saw who the prisoner was.

Her cousin. Her unbeatable cousin Jaime.

He had been unceremoniously dumped in a heap, his proud golden hair was tangled and covered in mud. His face was battered and bloody, still, he looked ready for a fight. His bright, cat-like green eyes scanning the crowds, calculating the best plan of escape. She hid behind one of the men, not wanting his eyes to fall on her.

As she hid swallowed down her horror, she knew she couldn’t give herself away so early. Even so, seeing her proud cousin in such a sorry state, bound and beaten, was enough to make her eyes water, whether or not they had been close. He was family. Hopefully anyone who noticed would simply attribute it to feminine sensibilities.

“Lady Stark, I would offer you my sword; but I seem to have lost it.”

Cersanne peaked around the Stark soldier she had hidden behind. Her attention firmly on the scene in front of her. Lady Stark, Robb’s mother, stood just in front of her son, her expression disgusted as she looked at Jaime.

“It is not your sword I want.”

If Lady Stark’s expression hadn’t been enough to convince her that it was quite possible she was about to witness her cousin’s death, her tone certainly was. How Jaime wasn’t withering under such a stony tone was beyond her. She would have been a sobbing wreck.

“Give me my daughters back. Give me my husband.”

“I’ve lost them too, I’m afraid.”

Cersanne wanted to throttle them him. How easy it would be to end this war before it ever really started. Enough men had already died. Surely they could all see that. It was so simple. Send Eddard Stark back to Winterfell, or to the Wall - and his daughter’s with him. From what Cersanne understood, with Robert Baratheon dead, there was no love between the Starks and Lannisters and no reason to maintain the engagement between Sansa Stark and Cersanne’s wretched cousin Joffrey.

“Kill ‘im, Robb.”

Cersanne looked in the direction of the voice. It was Theon. Of course. She glanced back at Jaime who looked more intrigued than concerned. She knew that expression. She had seen it mirrored on his twin's face several times when Cersei was trying to get a measure of her. On Jaime, however, it was face less intense, there was a trace of humour in his eyes. She had never known him to take anything seriously. Even his own mortality, it would seem.

“Send his head to his father. He cut down ten of our men. You saw him.”

“He’s more use to us alive than dead.”

Cersanne could have kissed him. She didn’t know how she would have been able to bear watching her cousin die.

“Take him away, and put him in irons.”

“You could end this war right now, boy.”

Cersanne snapped her attention back to him. She wasn’t sure she liked where this was going. She didn’t know him well, but she knew her cousin well enough. He wasn’t interested in politics, his solution wouldn’t be diplomatic, or sensible. He was too rash, too headstrong. His solution would be based in some sort of combat. Something he knew he would win at. He was the best fighter left in the Seven Kingdoms.

 “Save thousands of lives. You fight for the Starks, I fight for the Lannisters. Swords, or lances, teeth, nails - Choose your weapons and let’s end this here and now.”

Cersanne wanted to scream. The pride of men would be their downfall. Every single one of them. The camp stood in silence, watching Robb, waiting for his reaction. Was he the hot-headed fool Cersei had so easily written him off as?

“If we do it your way, _Kingslayer_ ; you’d win. We’re not doing it your way.”

Cersanne had to give him credit. He was no fool. Another man might’ve wanted the honour of killing Jaime by his own hand. Boasting rights. Her gaze fell on Theon Greyjoy at that thought. She looked back at Robb who was frowning as his men moved to drag Jaime to whatever makeshift cell they had at their camp. He’d even managed to remain remarkably calm, though she could see the anger bubbling away under the surface.

The gathered crowds cheered as Jaime was led away. Cersanne would have to find out where. Even if she couldn’t free him without giving herself away, she could make sure he was alive and as well as possible. Find a way to sneak him food, perhaps. As she made to follow them, she heard Robb, barely audible over the cheers of his men.

“I sent two thousand men to their graves today.”

Cersanne paused. Surprised by his words. She’d been led to believe he had no regard for his men. No understanding of the sacrifice he was asking of them. Perhaps Cersei was wrong.

“The bards will sing songs of their sacrifice.”

Cersanne rolled her eyes. Lot of good the songs of bards would do for those who had fallen. Or the families they had left behind. Theon was definitely more the fool that Cersei had described. Was it possible she had the two confused?

“Aye; but the dead won’t hear them.”

She watched as he glanced at his mother, clearly seeking some sort of comfort or confirmation. Cersanne was surprised by the urge to embrace him that washed over her as she took in his expression. He looked so sad, so resigned. He knew it wouldn’t be the last time he had to do the same to more men. She bit back the urge, focusing instead on watching him. Of getting some sort of understanding of this unexpected person now addressing the still-cheering crowd.

“One victory does not make us conquerors! Did we free my father? Did we rescue my sisters from the queen? Did we free the North from those who want us on our knees? This war is far from over.”

It was a good speech. Simple, stirring and striking. Cersanne could suddenly understand why the gathered men so willingly followed him. For all his youth, Robb Stark was a born leader.

Her mind was reeling as she watched him walk away.

* * *

 

Several days later, Cersanne was wandering around the encampment. She was desperate to be alone.  For days now she had been carefully avoiding the attentions of Theon, who had tried to seek her out several times after Robb’s speech.

She thought back to the advice she had given Willow when she had first encountered her. She would have to be more careful about being alone with these men. Especially Theon Greyjoy.

She had no idea where she was going, just that she wanted to be away from the camp. The noise, the smell. The men. She hoisted her skirts higher, just over her ankles. The mud was making walking so hard. She stopped, caught off guard by the sound of heavy breathing.

“Hello?”

Instead of a response she heard a loud thud, like a sword being swung against something hard. Against her better judgement she found herself starting to walk in the direction she supposed the sound was coming from. She heard the sound of heavy, laboured breathing again before realising it was the sound of crying. A woman crying.

She saw Lady Stark gripping a tree tightly, her face the very image of grief. Realisation dawned on Cersanne.

Joffrey had done it. He’d killed Lord Stark.

She was rooted to the spot. What comfort could she possibly give? How could anything she said make it any better for the grieving widow?

As she began to walk away, resigned to the fact there was nothing she could do, she heard that same dull thudding.

Lady Stark heard it too, immediately walking in its direction, immediately schooling her expression. Unlike Cersanne, it seemed Lady Stark had a good idea of its source.

She followed behind her, as quietly as she could, wishing she could shake the coil of guilt in her stomach. Joffrey was her family. Her family was responsible for this.

She gasped softly as she saw the cause of the noise.

There stood Robb Stark, swinging his huge sword at a nearby tree with tears streaming down his face. As with his mother, there was a large part of her wanted to comfort him. Another wanted to run far away and give up on her task. How could she do anything her family wanted when they had allowed Joffrey to cause this much pain to the Starks. The Starks who just wanted to be reunited and to go home.

“ _I’ll kill them all_.”

Her blood ran cold at his words. The faces of her family flashing before her eyes. If he knew who she really was, he’d strike her dead without a second thought. Before she’d realised she had started, she was running. As far from Lady Stark and her eldest son as her feet would carry her.

The sobs tore from her throat near completely unbidden. She couldn’t stop them. The more she tried to bite them down, the more came flooding down her cheeks.

Was this what she had agreed to?

More than ever she was questioning which side was the right one. Before she had only felt mild irritation at being sent her on such a hopeless task, she knew her family had no real hope that she would succeed. They’d already decided on their course.

So why was she here?

She paused, looking back at the camp. She needed Jaime.

She needed to see another Lannister. She needed to understand why. Why she was there, why Lord Stark had lost his head, why they thought she would be of any use to their cause. _Why?_

Even as she headed back to the camp she knew it was a bad idea. She had never been close to Jaime. She had never borne him any true ill will either, no matter how irritated the hero worship her brothers felt for him made her; but he reminded her too much of his twin sister.

And she was very intimidated by him. By just the idea of him. The reputation he had. The name. _Kingslayer_.

She had always been brought up with the knowledge that Jaime’s actions against his king had been just and she couldn’t imagine being in his situation. She knew it had been a terrible choice for him. She had no idea what she would have done had she been left in his place. Her father's head and thousands of lives or kill a man she was sworn to protect. She just couldn’t imagine stabbing a man driving a sword into the back of an unarmed man. Especially one she had sworn an oath to serve.

She saw the guards first and immediately cursed her own stupidity. She’d always had her familial connections to open doors for her. That name would do her no good here. Not now.

She supposed she could use her looks, but even they wouldn’t get her far, not without the promise of more. And she was hardly willing to sacrifice her virtue just to talk to Jaime of all people.

She shook her head. It would have to wait. She needed to time to think things through by herself before she allowed herself to be brainwashed again.

With a sigh, Cersanne found herself walking back the way she had come. She glanced over her shoulder, checking that her presence had not been noticed. As far as she could tell she hadn’t. She realised a breath that had caught in her throat.

She had no real idea of where she was going. Back to the woods sounded like a good idea. She had always been able to think better when surrounded by trees, and the salty air that hung over the Godswood of her home at Casterly Rock.

* * *

 

She didn’t know how long she had been sat on the stump. All she knew was that it was nearly dark. She stood, brushing her dress half-heartedly with her palms.

It was in a hopeless state already. Only a few days of walking through mud and trees and it was torn, stained and, frankly, ruined. Cersanne sighed. If her mother could only see her now. See what she had agreed to. She wondered if she’d even care.

If her brothers could see her now. They would laugh. Especially Lyonel. He always found her fretting over her dresses amusing. She’d once found him goading Tion into cutting one of her favourite dresses just to spite her when they had been children. She felt tears well in her eyes. She hadn’t expected to miss them. Not this much. She would even have appreciated seeing Cleos, intolerable fool though he was.

She shrugged to herself before setting off towards the camp once more. She would speak to Jaime and pray she didn’t give herself away to anyone else. She didn’t suppose she’d survive very long if they discovered who she really was. Robb himself might not be the one to kill her, but given the recent news from King’s Landing, she didn’t suppose he’d do much to defend her either. The best she could hope for was that she’d be thrown into a pen alongside Jaime.

As the camp grew closer she felt the mud worsen. It was becoming increasingly difficult to walk in her stupid shoes. She cursed her uncle. What possible reason had there been to not provide sensible shoes; other than to torture her?

With a cry she felt her ankle twist under her. Badly enough that she had to bit her tongue to keep from sobbing. She gritted her teeth with determination and continued on her way, still intent on seeing her cousin. Swollen ankle be damned. She needed answers.

“Oi! Oi!”

Cersanne looked up at the sound. The soldiers walking towards her were already catcalling. Her skin crawled as they grew closer. She wasn’t naive enough to pretend she didn’t know what they wanted.

“Look-y what we got ‘ere, Willem!”

“She’s pretty! Must be one of them Lannister cast-offs.”

“Let us look at ye, gel!”

She shuddered, stepping back from the man, out of the reach of his grabby little hands, only to find herself within the reach of his friend. She prayed to all the Gods she’d ever heard of that someone, anyone would step in and save her.

“Do not touch me!”

“She has a tongue, Kev!”

“I know what she can do with it!”

“Get away from me!”

As they advanced on her she yelped, her cries getting stuck in her throat as she tried desperately to scream.

“Enough!”

She felt herself sob as a familiar face stepped into the fray, his face stony as he looked at the men.

“This is how you treat defenceless girls?” He offered a hand she took gladly, allowing him to pull her close to his side, her arms went around his waist instinctively. “Get out of my sight all of you!”

The men scattered quickly, muttering curses and crude comments she pretended she couldn’t hear as she disentangled herself from Robb’s arms.

“Did they touch you, my lady?” He gave her a once over, eyes concerned and gentle as they met hers.

She shook her head. “No. No, they didn’t touch me, My Lord.”

He nodded his head, easing his grip on her, though not letting go entirely. “I’m sorry for the things they said to you.”

“You should not be apologising on their behalf. Were it not for you - well, I shouldn’t like to think what they had planned. I am in your debt, My Lord. Thank you.” A small smile played on her lips. She might not be even half a Lannister anymore, but the words still managed to find their way into her mouth.

“I still don’t know your name, My Lady. We were interrupted the last time I asked.”

She stepped away from him, strangely embarrassed by his attention, even knowing he was merely being polite. “I’m no lady, My Lord. My name’s Martenya.” She let the words hang in the air for a moment. “Martenya _Flowers_.”

He blinked as the implication hit him. “From the Reach.”

Ah, a gentleman. Again, not quite what her cousin had led her to expect. Though, she remembered being told he had grown up with a bastard brother, perhaps why that was why he had yet to recoil. “Yes, My Lord. My mother was a barmaid.”

“So your father was the lord?”

She laughed in disbelief. “You seem quite determined I am some sort of nobility!”

He grinned. “I’d happily wager the fact. It’s obvious.”

“And how is that, My Lord?”

Again he flashed that grin, one that that made Cersanne’s heart flutter a little. Not that she would admit it to anyone. She couldn’t afford to find him attractive, not with all that was at stake. “Would you like me to list the reasons? Or I could just apologise.”

Cersanne stared at him in confusion. “Apologise, My Lord?”

He nodded, stepping closer again before scooping her into his arms. “I’m afraid that wasn’t very gentlemanly.”

She gasped, shaking her head, flushing as she felt his hands on her legs. “No. It was not.”

“No, but necessary, I’m afraid.” He laughed as he set off towards the camp. “I think you’ll appreciate it tomorrow when you try to walk on that ankle.”

So he had noticed. “In that case I suppose I should thank you.”

Perhaps this was the reason her uncle had failed to provide her with sensible shoes. Though knowing his lack of imagination, she doubted it.

He carried her in silence for a while and Cersanne found herself growing sad as the camp grew closer. “What were you doing wandering alone like that?”

She sighed. “Thinking. Or not thinking, depending on who you ask.”

“So your thoughts led you to be left alone in the dark with a rowdy group of men?”

She frowned. “I’m not that sort of girl, My Lord.”

“I didn’t - Again, that much is obvious, My Lady.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that, My Lord. I don’t deserve such a title.”

He shook his head. His auburn curls bouncing gently, tickling her cheek where they brushed it. “Even at war it’s hard to forget the lessons I grew up with.”

“I wouldn’t know, My Lord.” She felt herself shiver suddenly, moving closer to him before she could stop herself or think better of it.

“You’re cold.”

“You’re observant.”

He laughed again. It was a pleasant sound and made her feel almost as comfortable as it made her feel guilty. If he knew who she really was he wouldn't be laughing with her. He would have left her to the mercy of those men. Looking at his kind eyes she frowned. Maybe he wouldn't have. Maybe he would have just dropped her in the mud.

“I was sorry to hear about your father. He did not deserve it.”

The smile left his face. “No he did not.”

They had arrived at the encampment. Gently, Robb let her down, allowing her to rest some of her weight on him as she tested her ankle. She hissed as she tried to put her weight on it, the answering burn telling her she would be limping for several days.

“You should probably see a maester, make sure it’s not broken.”

Cersanne shook her head. “I’ve broken an ankle before, My Lord. It’s just twisted. Thank you again; for everything.” She dropped into a curtsy, gritting her teeth as her ankle protested against the action.

He watched her in silence, deep in thought, before turning away from her, his face suddenly troubled though Cersanne had no idea how she had offended him.

She sighed, pushing Robb Stark from her thoughts as she looked in the direction of the prisoners.


	3. Nothing Goes As Planned.

“ _Men should be what they seem_.”

\- William Shakespeare's Othello.

* * *

 

Cersanne hovered in her hiding place. She’d managed to get past the guards; they weren’t as frightening as she’d feared, and maybe twice as dim-witted as she’d hoped. Yet, still, the thought of speaking to Jaime didn't sit entirely comfortably with her.

She’d half made her mind up to leave and find a maester instead as Robb had suggested, her ankle was, after all, still throbbing, but something stopped her. A movement by Jaime’s holding area - if you could call it that. He was chained to a wooden pole and had been left to sit in the mud. She supposed the Stark men wanted to shame him a little to avenge their fallen. She couldn’t blame them.

She couldn’t hear the conversation, but she could definitely hear two distinct voices. That of Jaime, and…

She paused, confused.

She recognised that voice. She’d only heard it a handful of times in past few days, but she was certain of the speaker’s identity. Lady Stark. Intrigued, and a little afraid for her cousin’s safety, Cersanne crept closer, careful to balance her weight on her good ankle.

“I’m not at my best, but, I think I could be of service. You slip out of that gown and we’ll see if I’m up to it.”

He was stopped from saying more by Lady Stark smashing a rock Cersanne hadn’t noticed she was holding against his jaw.

She knew it was wrong, but Cersanne couldn't help but be impressed by the sheer force. From the stunned silence that followed for a moment, Cersanne supposed Jaime must have been, too.

“I do like a violent woman.”

“I will kill you, tonight, _Ser_. Pack your head into a box and send it to your sister.”

Cersanne cringed as she imagined Cersei’s reaction to that particular gift. Her cousin’s wrath was formidable. She could only imagine the terrible retribution that would befall all those even remotely linked to the Stark cause if Lady Stark made good on her threat.

“Let me show you how. Hit me again; over the ear. And again, and again. You’re stronger than you look. It shouldn’t take long.” She truly wished he would learn to take some things seriously. Particularly the threats of a grieving widow.

“That is what you want the world to believe, isn’t it? That you don’t fear death.”

“But I don’t, My Lady. The dark is coming for all of us. Why cry about it?”

This gave Cersanne pause. She couldn’t properly see his face in the darkness, but his tone was genuine enough, for Jaime at least.

“Because you are going to the deepest of the Seven Hells if the Gods are just.”

“What Gods are those? The trees your husband prayed to? Where were the trees when his head was getting chopped off? If your Gods are real, and if they’re just; why is the world so full of injustice?”

Cersanne had never heard anyone speak of the Gods that way.

“Because of men like you.”

“There are no men like me. Only me.”

Cersanne shook her head. There it was again. _Pride_. The downfall of all men.

“My son. Bran. How did he come to fall from that tower?”

Cersanne had only heard rumours of the Stark boy’s accident. Though the more she heard the less she believed it to have been an accident. She suspected he had seen something he was not supposed to and she truly doubted the suspicion Lady Stark had of Tyrion was justified. She could never imagine someone like him pushing that boy to what should have been his death. It wasn’t in his nature. Besides, what did he have to gain?

As she waited for Jaime’s response she began to suspect the truth.

“I pushed him out the window.”

Cersanne gasped, clasping her hand over her mouth in hopes that no one had heard. She had not expected him to be so brazen.

“ _Why?”_

For the first time that night, Lady Stark sounded genuinely shaken, and vulnerable.

“I...hoped the fall would kill him.”

Again, bile rose in Cersanne’s throat. Bran was a child. Whatever he had seen, and a disturbing theory was forming in her head, he had not deserved such a fate. Nor did he deserve the life that Jaime had sentenced him to, if the rumours of his injuries were to be believed. He’d never walk again, and it was Jaime’s fault.

“ _Why_?”

Jaime sighed, his breath coming out in thick clouds in the frigid night air. “You should get some sleep. It’s going to be a long war.”

There was a thud as Lady Stark dropped the rock she had been holding. Cersanne let out a breath. It seemed Jaime would survive the night after all; he wouldn’t die at Lady Stark’s hands at least.

As Lady Stark walked away, Cersanne sat for a moment, just watching Jaime’s silhouette in the moonlight. What kind of man was he? To do that to an innocent child.

She crept closer.

“I know you’re there, little cousin.”

She flinched. She should’ve known. She moved closer, as quickly and quietly as she could manage with her swollen ankle. “How’d you know?”

He laughed. “You’re not a sneaky as you like to think.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment.

“I know what you heard. You think I’m a monster now.”

She frowned. “I don’t know what I think of you.”

“So, they actually sent you here? I figured it was just a passing fancy.”

“You knew?”

How long had they been planning this?

He nodded, unaffected by her tone. “Not a passing fancy then.”

“It would seem not.” She shrugged. “Why am I here?”

He squinted at her. “You know why.”

She scowled. He was right, at least technically. “Does it hurt?” She gestured vaguely at his bloodied face.

“I’ve survived worse.”

“That’s not what I asked. Does it _hurt_?”

When he didn’t reply, she tore a piece of ripped fabric from her dress, the cleanest she could find, and busied herself with wiping away the worst of the blood. He flinched away from her.

“Leave it,” he hissed, pushing her hand away.

Curse the stubbornness of men. She shook her head. “You’re going to be here for a long time. Better to get the worst of it off than to leave it to get caked in Gods know what else...” She trailed off, trying not to mention the smell that was already surrounding him.

“I have a plan.”

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “It won’t work.”

He properly met her eyes for the first time, those bright, emerald eyes searching brown ones. She blinked, trying to shake the feeling he was seeing more than she wanted him to. “And what do you know about it, little cousin?”

She shook her head. “I’m no strategist, but I know what being outnumbered looks like. They’re not going to let you get away, and they won't kill you until they know the Stark girls are safe. You’d best get comfortable. This war is far from over.”

She stopped rubbing at the mud and blood that coated his face, giving him a sidelong glance. Considering her words as he stared back. “You really meant to kill him? Bran?”

He nodded without a moment’s hesitation. “Yes, and I’m not used to failing. That boy should be dead. A fall from that height. I was sure of it.”

She gaped at him, twisting the rag in her hands. “ _Why_? What did he see?”

“Ah, someone finally asks the right question.” He smiled. “Something he wasn’t supposed to, but I’m sure you didn’t need me to tell you that, you’re not the fool your mother always claimed.”

She refused to give him the reaction he so clearly craved. Her mother’s low opinion of her was hardly news. “Does it have anything to do with why Lord Stark is dead?”

Jaime laughed harshly. “In a way, I suppose it does. _Everything_ is connected, Cersanne. You just have to know where to look.” He frowned at her. “If you’re really searching for the truth, that is.”

She flinched. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

“You may think you want to know the truth, but you don’t. Not really. It’ll only leave you more confused.”

She felt her eyes widen. She felt increasingly vulnerable as his bright eyes bore into hers. “How did you know?”

He rolled his eyes. It was a strangely ordinary gesture from someone she had always thought of as extraordinary. “I am not a fool. We have never been close, I saw that surprise when I remembered your name.”

She felt herself flush.

“So you haven’t come to me out of concern for my safety. Or for my company. You sought me out because you're either doubting yourself or you’re having trouble connecting the things you’ve heard and what you are seeing. What are you calling yourself now?”

“Martenya,” she whispered.

He nodded. “Well,  _Martenya._ You should rest. The war has only just begun.”

With that he turned from her, hunching his shoulders against the cold.

* * *

 

Jaime’s parting words had been true at least. Weeks had passed and Cersanne had followed the army from camp to camp, waiting for the soldiers as they returned victory after victory.

Despite the knowledge that they were fighting Lannister men, she couldn't’ help the sense of relief that overwhelmed her each time she saw them return. A few had even become familiar faces, offering her smiles and even the occasional wink as they rode past. She mourned these men the most.

One day she noticed that the group that had tried to attack her had not returned. She hadn’t known how to feel then. There was a sense of shame that came over her when she realised at least part of what she was feeling was relief. Whatever they had tried to do to her, they were still someone’s family.

Since their last conversation, she hadn’t bothered to return to Jaime. Like her, he had moved with the Starks from camp to camp. A clever strategy on the Stark side. Her uncle Tywin was the richest man in Westeros. Anyone the Starks trusted to watch over him whilst they continued on their way would have to be unbelievably loyal to resist the rewards her uncle would offer for the safe return of his son.

She had also not seen much of Robb. Their last encounter had left her shaken. She still didn't know quite what had changed between them in the moments before he had walked away. It troubled her, but she couldn't bring herself to seek him out, to confront him. She had pushed the thought to the back of her mind, busying herself instead with fashioning a new, more practical dress out of what wearable material she could find. Eventually she had snapped the heels from her boots. It had given her a strange gait, but she hadn’t twisted her ankle since then so she decided the sacrifice was worth it, despite the fact that she had seen Robb watching her walk with a bemused grin more than once. She tried not to dwell on it.

After she had finished, the overhaul of her wardrobe had left her looking like the street urchins she had seen the only time her mother had allowed her to venture to Flea Bottom. Maybe now Robb Stark would believe that she was no lady. Strangely, the thought made her smile.

All day she had been preoccupied, her thoughts never really settling as she wandered the camp. She had no clear idea of where she was heading, only making sure that she was not left alone with any of the men. She had learned her lesson the first time and wasn't planning on repeating it. She glanced at her surroundings, not overly surprised to realise she had wandered towards the makeshift cells.

She heard two voices she recognised instantly, and, as always, allowed her curiosity to get the better of her. Perhaps her mother was right. Her curiosity would eventually get her killed. She just hoped that this was not the day.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like being called ‘ _boy_ ’? Insulted?”

Despite everything, and the rather impressively unpleasant appearance and stench that surrounded him, she could smell him even from a distance, Jaime’s attitude remained unchanged. She rolled her eyes, unsure if she had ever really expected anything less.

“You insult yourself,  _Kingslayer_. You’ve been defeated by a  _boy_. You’re held captive by a  _boy_. Perhaps you’ll be killed by a boy.”

She turned towards the sound of growling, the hair on the back of her neck standing up at the sound. An evolutionary response, she supposed.

It was then she got her first real look at Robb Stark’s direwolf. She had read the stories, heard the old wives tales and heard talk around the camp, but she had never actually seen Grey Wind with her own eyes. Nothing could have prepared her for the sight of him.

Cersanne had always prided herself on her imagination, no matter how much her mother bemoaned it, but even her imagination had not been able to conjure an accurate picture. The beast, and there was no other word for the animal that had appeared from the darkness, immediately stopping by Robb’s side, looked for all the world like a regular wolf, intelligent yellow, almost amber, eyes that were fixed on Jaime, thick smoke-grey hair that Robb’s hand was buried in and a long, bushy tail. The only thing to distinguish it as a direwolf was its size. It was huge. Its back was level with Robb’s waist and he wasn’t far off as wide as his master. Even from a distance Cersanne could feel the mutual respect radiating from wolf to master and the fear rolling off Jaime.

Cersanne smiled to herself. A lion afraid of a wolf.

Even as Robb spoke, Cersanne could see the sheer terror on Jaime’s face as his eyes remained fixed on the beast in front of him. She had never before seen such a look from him. She couldn’t imagine anyone not looking the same with Grey Wind staring at them so intensely, growling the whole time. The sound reverberated through her, even from a distance. Jaime’s eyes finally moved from wolf to master as Robb voiced the vile accusation Cersanne had heard before.

“He’s your bastard son.”

The words had stopped shocking Cersanne. After all, the idea that Joffrey was the product of incest hardly seemed far-fetched. The Targaryens had practised incest throughout their reign and the old saying was a good indication of how that had turned out. ‘Every Time a Targaryen is born the Gods flip a coin’. It seemed that, if the rumours were to be believed, the toss of the coin had not turned out favourably for Cersei. Not in Joffrey’s case at least. Myrcella and Tommen were remarkably sweet children. Not at all like either of their parents. She was terribly fond of them both, even if she rarely got to see them.

“If that’s true, Stannis is the rightful King. How convenient for him.”

Jaime remained remarkably calm under the line of questioning. Cersanne supposed he had no other choice. Any reaction would have betrayed the truth. Truth that Cersei, and her, _their_ , children, could very easily die for.

“My father learned the truth. That’s why you had him executed.”

Jaime’s eyes had returned to the wolf. “I was your prisoner when Ned Stark lost his head.”

“Your son killed him so the world wouldn’t learn who fathered him, and _you_ ; you pushed my brother from a window because he saw you with the queen.”

Cersanne ignored the urge to puke at the image that formed in her head at the words. She shook it away firmly.

“You have proof? Or do you just want to trade gossip like a couple of fishwives?”

“I’m sending one of your cousins down to King’s Landing with my peace terms.”

Jaime scoffed. “You think my father’s going to negotiate with you? You don’t know him very well.”

“No, but he’s starting to know me.”

She smiled at that. She couldn’t help it. Robb might be naïve about her uncle, but even she couldn’t argue that he had, miraculously, managed to take him by surprise. It was quite the feat.

“Three victories don’t make you a conqueror.”

“It’s better than three defeats.”

Cersanne watched with morbid curiosity as Robb urged his wolf forward, flinching as its jaws snapped mere centimetres from Jaime’s face. Without so much as a second glance it turned away from him, chasing after its master.

With a lingering look in Jaime’s direction, Cersanne followed after Robb.

“He’s right you know.”

Robb turned, smiling when he saw her. She tried not to think too much about that. “Oh, it’s you.”

“It’s me,” She agreed, catching up to him with a few quick steps. “It’s been a while, My Lord. I mean _Your Grace_.” 

It was easy to forget that he had been named King in the North since the last time they had spoken. The title suited him well.

He watched her for a moment, a thought clearly troubling him as he stared at her, before shaking his head. “How’s your ankle?”

She was surprised he’d remembered, given all that had happened since. “Since the time you helped me or the four times since?”

He laughed, his eyes crinkling slightly. Cersanne was reminded of just how much she liked the sound. And how much she shouldn’t. “Perhaps you should be more careful, My Lady.”

She bit her lip. “I’d prefer it if you’d call me _Martenya_ , Your Grace.”

He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head at her. “This upsets you, doesn’t it?”

There was a grumble from beside him. Cersanne laughed as he looked down at his direwolf in shock. “Sorry, it seems he doesn't remember his lessons. This is Grey Wind.”

Cersanne had never spent much time around dogs of any size and so stayed completely still as the wolf circled her, sniffing curiously.

Robb laughed. “You don’t have to worry. He only bites Lannisters.”

Cersanne grinned nervously, hoping the weeks of mud and other miscellaneous stains would hide the scent of Tywin’s camp on her dress. “Lucky me.”

She breathed out as Grey wind’s attentions turned from her, seemingly satisfied that she was no threat to his master. “I’ve never seen a direwolf before.”

“You’re not the only one. I hear they’ve not been seen south of the Wall in centuries.”

“Until now, Your Grace.”

Grey Wind let out a groan as he stretched, panting contentedly as his yellow eyes studied them.

“Until now,” he echoed quietly. “You said he was right.”

"Hmm?"

Robb indicated the direction they had come in. "The Kingslayer, you said he was right."

Cersanne shook her head. "I only meant that Tywin Lannister has a certain reputation. You really think he is going to bend to your commands?"

He narrowed his eyes. "I am presenting him with my conditions for peace. What he does with them is his decision. I'm not trying to command him. I’m not that great a fool, no matter what the Lannisters wish to believe."

Cersanne tried not to flinch at his tone. "“I didn’t say you were, Your Grace. I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm talking about. I shouldn't have spoken out of turn. Forgive me."

She turned to walk away, stopping only when Robb's hand gripped her arm, turning her to face him once more.

"Don't. That was rude of me. You have every right to voice your opinion. A good ruler listens to the concerns of his people. All of them."

She flinched from his grip, ignoring the hurt look on his face. "Did your father teach you that?" She asked curiously.

Robb nodded. "Come with me."


	4. The Air Grew Cold

“ _These times of woe afford no time to woo_.”

\- William Shakespeare's Romeo & Juliet

* * *

 

Cersanne had watched Robb’s meeting with Ser Alton with bated breath, a vague sense of recognition as she studied the Lannister banner man’s face. She supposed she must have seen him at some family gathering. He must be a distant relative after all.

She moved back as his eyes scanned the room, suddenly afraid that he would recognise her if he got a good look at the girl hiding in the shadows. She returned her attention to the conversation, shaking her head.

Even if he did recognise her, and the chance of that was slim enough, surely he wouldn’t be such a fool that he would out her to the Starks. They were family.

“First, your family must release my sisters. Second, my father’s bones must be returned to us so he may rest beside his brother and sister in the crypts below Winterfell. And the remains of all those who died in his service must also be returned; their families can honour them with proper funerals.”

“An honourable request; Your Grace.”

Cersanne agreed silently. If these were Robb’s terms, then maybe this war would be over sooner than she had anticipated. She could go home. She shook her head as it occurred to her she didn’t really want to return to Casterly Rock. An unsettling realisation came over her. She would miss the encampments, the men, the sounds, the noise.

_Robb._

She blinked.

She tried to pretend the thought of never seeing Robb again didn’t bother her. It shouldn’t. All that mattered was the end of this terrible war. She was so ready for it to be over.

“Third, Joffrey, and the queen regent must renounce all claim to the dominion of the North. From this time, to the end of time, we are a free, and independent kingdom.”

“King in the North!”

Cersanne surprised herself by joining in with the chant, the words escaping her unbidden.

“Neither Joffrey, nor any of his men, shall set foot in our lands again. If he disregards this command, he shall suffer the same fate as my father. Only, I don’t need a servant to do my beheading for me.”

The silence grew tense. She looked to Ser Alton, whose face was a mask of shock. She waited impatiently for his response.

“These are,” He paused, clearly unsure of how to go on. “Your Grace, these are-”

“These are my terms.” Robb stood as he spoke, looking every inch a king. Again, Cersanne was struck by the difference between him and Joffrey, or even Robb and his namesake. Neither of them had ever looked how Cersanne had imagined the kings in the stories her septa had told her. Perhaps Robert had once, she had heard tales from her mother, and cousins. He had once been a fine warrior, and handsome, according to many. Cersei had been the envy of so many women on her wedding day.

Then Robert had grown into a fat, whoring boar of a man.

She sighed. It was not pleasant to think ill of the dead.

“If the queen regent and her son meet them, I’ll give them peace. If not; I will litter the South with Lannister dead.”

“King Joffrey is a _Baratheon_ , Your Grace.”

“Oh, _is_ he?”

Cersanne felt a wry grin creep onto her face at his tone.

“You’ll ride at daybreak, Ser Alton. That will be all for tonight.”

Cersanne followed the gathered men from the tent, daring one last glance at Robb, who had been cornered by Theon, before slipping outside, not straying too far, trying to hear their conversation. She smiled ruefully to herself as she pretended to warm her hands by a nearby fire. Perhaps now she was finally playing her part as a spy.

She frowned as they discussed the expected reaction to Robb’s peace terms. They were in agreement; they would not be met.

“We can fight them in the fields as long as you like, but we won’t beat them until you take King’s Landing.”

Much as it pained her, Cersanne agreed with Theon’s words. Winning battles on the field was one thing, something Robb was clearly gifted at, but none would pay much attention to a distant war, not so long as it wasn’t a direct threat to them. Take the capital and even the smallfolk would be forced to take note. Joffrey would be forced to submit in the face of an army at his door.

“And we can’t take King’s Landing without ships.”

Cersanne didn’t understand the implication, but from the tense silence that followed, she suspected Robb did. She pressed closer to the tent, listening to the pair as they debated the wisdom of calling upon Theon’s father.

She didn’t know him well, really she didn’t know either of them particularly well at all, but, immediately, she realised she didn’t trust Theon’s intentions.

Still, it wasn’t her place, and Theon was Robb’s friend, surely if he could trust anyone, it would be his childhood companion. Perhaps that was naïve belief. Experience should have taught her better than that.

After all, it had been a childhood companion of her own that had told her mother of her infatuation with a lowborn boy. Cersanne still shuddered at the memories.

She shook her head, Robb’s decision in that moment would be far more important that her decision to trust Kyra.

“I’m his only living son. He’ll listen to me. I know he will.”

Cersanne couldn’t tell who he was trying to convince; Robb, or himself.

“I’m not a Stark. I know that. But your father raised me to be an honourable man. We can avenge him. Together.”

Throughout the whole exchange, Robb hadn’t said a word. And Cersanne wished she could see his face. She wanted to understand the reason for his silence, to understand what he was thinking. She moved closer to the tent as Theon walked away. The smile on his face speaking volumes. He was convinced he had won.

“I take it you were listening, My Lady.”

She jumped, flinching, before plastering a smile on her face as she turned to him.

He laughed, turning back into the tent, silently inviting her to follow him.

“You caught me, Your Grace.”

He smiled, his eyes sad as he regarded her.

“Pardon my saying so, but you look troubled, Your Grace.”

He sighed. “What do you think?”

Cersanne shook her head, shifting her weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. “It’s not my place, Your Grace. You know your friend better than I do.”

His brow furrowed as he turned his attention to the battle plans in front of him. “That’s the problem though, isn’t it? He’s my friend, of course I want to trust my friend.”

Cersanne frowned, catching onto the words he hadn’t said. “But you don’t.”

“They say Balon Grejoy has two hundred ships. I need those ships. Do you understand what a difference that could make to this war?”

She nodded. It could mean the difference between victory and defeat. “What’s stopping you?”

He sighed again, stepping around the table to move closer to her. “Do you know the terms I had to agree to, when we wanted to pass through Walder Frey’s lands?”

Cersanne shook her head. She had been wondering what could possibly have possessed her grandfather to side with the Starks. The Lannisters had more…well _everything_ ; money, power, influence, familial ties. What had the Starks offered that had bested all of that?

“Have you met my squire? Olyvar. He is one of Walder Frey’s sons. He was one part of the agreement. I’m expected to give him a knighthood, in time.” He sighed. “Still, he’s a good man, I think I might come to call him a friend, eventually.”

She nodded. She had met Olvyar, once, briefly, at Cleos’ wedding. Her uncle had seemed like a nice man; a little anxious, perhaps, but passionate, and kind. Robb truly couldn’t have asked for a better squire.

“That’s not the worst of it, though. My sister, Arya, must marry another of his sons. She’s going to hate me for agreeing to that.” He chuckled absently, his thoughts clearly on his youngest sister. The sound suddenly died in his throat. “When the fighting is done, I will marry one of his daughters.”

His tone suggested he was quoting someone. From the expression on his face, the prospect did not excite him.

“ _Whichever I prefer_.”

Cersanne moved to touch his arm, before thinking better of it. “Was it worth it?”

His eyes snapped to hers. “ _Worth it_?”

She nodded. “For the bridge. For the victory you won after you crossed.”

Robb sighed, sitting. He waved his hand at the chair next to his, inviting her to do the same. “I don’t know. I always hoped I’d be able to marry someone of my choice. Someone I at least liked. I always supposed it would be a Northern girl; a Karstark, or a Forrester, maybe. Someone I’d at least met before I married her. Maybe it was a foolish idea.”

Cersanne shook her head. “You had every reason to hope you’d at least have a choice. You were the son of a Lord. Now you’re a king. Of course you hoped for something different.”

He started at her for a moment. “Perhaps you’re right.” He looked back at the battle pieces on the table. He lifted a carving of a wolf. “All that for a bridge. I wonder what Balon Greyjoy will want for two hundred ships.”

She watched him. “At least you can’t be forced into another marriage.”

He smiled. “Yes. At least there’s that.”

She toyed with a loose thread on her tattered sleeve. “You’re a good man, Robb-”

Their eyes met as they both acknowledged her mistake.

“ _Your Grace_. An honourable man. You’re going to do the right thing. Whatever you decide that is. I have every faith you will make the right choice.”

* * *

 

A few days later, Cersanne was sat repairing her dress, a hopeless cause, but a welcome distraction, when she spotted Grey Wind trotting towards her. The direwolf had grown strangely fond of her since their first meeting, often seeking her out when Robb was busy with war councils, and Cersanne could hardly believe how afraid of him she had been when they first met. Most of the time he was like a whiny puppy, albeit a giant one. She supposed she'd feel differently if she met him on the battlefield.

She moved her work from her lap, setting in down on the floor beside her, as the giant direwolf brushed against her legs, leaning his considerable weight on her.

“Hello, boy.”

She scratched his head gently, sighing as her fingers buried themselves in his coarse, grey fur.

She watched absently as the men wandered the encampment, busying themselves with preparations for the next battle. Even from a distance, she could hear their bawdy songs. She smiled.

“That’s where he went.”

Cersanne stood, allowing her hands to drop from Grey Wind’s fur. Robb smiled as he gave a soft grumble of complaint.

“He likes you.”

An answering smile spread across her face. “Your Grace.”

“Walk with me, My Lady.”

She nodded, lifting her skirts as they trudged through the mud. Robb watched her for a moment before offering his arm. She stared at it for a moment in surprise, before taking it gratefully, welcoming his steadying hold. “One day, Your Grace, you will find me looking quite presentable, and walking without injury.”

He laughed quietly. “You would take away your king’s only source of amusement?”

Cersanne pulled up short, schooling her expression into that of insulted incredulity. “Is that what I am to you? _Amusement_?”

His mouth parted, the laughter gone from his eyes the instant he took in her expression. “I meant no offence, My Lady. _Martenya_.”

At the sound of her adopted name, she grinned. She must have really worried him. “None taken, Your Grace. Still, I fooled you, didn’t I?”

He studied her as realisation dawned on him. “You’re joking?”

She nodded, feeling quite pleased with herself. “You’re my only source of amusement too, Your Grace.”

“You’d attempt to make a mockery of your king?”

His stern tone didn’t fool her. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but you don’t fool me. Acting, I’m afraid, is not one of your many talents.”

“Maybe next time.” She watched his features soften. “You think I have many talents?”

She shook her head in disbelief.

They walked along in companionable silence for a while, the only sound that of Grey Wind’s low growling as he chased after a rabbit a few metres ahead of them.

“You know,” Cersanne said after a while, her eyes still on Grey Wind, who had almost caught up to his prey. “I’ve never been to the North.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “What’s it like.”

Robb considered this for a moment, watching Grey Wind with a fond smile. “ _Cold_.”

Cersanne laughed, wrapping her makeshift cloak tighter around herself. “I would never have guessed.”

“I don’t know how to describe it for you,” he admitted quietly. “It’s _home_.” His voice softened to an almost reverent whisper.

She sighed, wondering what it was like to feel that way. She could hardly imagine talking about Casterly Rock in such a way. “I don’t know what that feels like.”

He stopped turning to look at her. “I’m sorry.”

Cersanne shook her head. “It’s not your fault, Your Grace. Besides, I’ve come to feel quite at home round here.” She laughed at his shocked expression. “Really, the smell isn’t so bad. Once you get used to it, at least.”

He grinned before frowning, his brow creasing. “It’s no place for a lady.”

She smiled, rolling her eyes, putting on her best Flea Bottom accent. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not a lady then!”

She nudged him, before freezing as she realised what she had done.

Fortunately, Robb seemed unfazed, in fact, his grin had returned. She was glad. Northerners might have a reputation for stern solemnness, but he definitely suited a smile more.

“Do you really miss it so much?” She asked finally.

“Winterfell?”

She nodded.

“Every single day.”

Cersanne looked back at the camp as Grey Wind finally caught up to his quarry. “I think I’d like to see it. Maybe after I find a better cloak.” She gestured to the tatter material around her.

“Maybe I’ll take you there one day.”

At his tone, she turned back to him, blinking as she became suddenly aware of how close they were. She could feel his hot breath on her face.

“Your Grace!”

She flinched, stepping backwards as Lord Karstark came into view. With a curtsy, she walked away, stubbornly ignoring how fast her heart had begun to pound.

* * *

 

Cersanne had no idea how she had ended up back on the battlefield. She had sworn to herself after the first time that she would never venture to such a place again. Yet here she was, staring at the fallen men littering the mud and grass. She listened to the sounds of the dying, feeling utterly helpless as she watched the Silent Sisters go about their business, tending the injured and the dying. 

She rolled up her sleeves, determined to, somehow, find a use for herself. Someone had to be in need of her. She’d often helped tend to her brother’s wounds, and she had studied the medical texts one of the maesters had offered her when she had shown an interest in his work.

Of course, none of that was on the scale of the chaos she now saw before her, but she had to at least try.

She spotted a Silent Sister battling with a screaming man and started towards them, hoping that there was something more to be done for him. She had barely knelt beside the pair before she knew her hopes had been in vain. Even before looking she could smell it. The rot. The poor boy would either lose his foot now, or his whole leg, or even his life, later.

“Hush, it’ll be over soon.” She took his hand in her own, doing her best to soothe them as another girl sat beside them, producing a saw that had clearly already seen more than one amputation.

“Don’t! Don’t please!” The boy’s desperate protests continued and it became increasingly difficult for her to keep a firm hold of him.

“Look at me,” she instructed desperately. “Don’t look. Please, _please_ don’t look.”

The other girl tried again to explain to the boy before pausing, looking at something, or someone, standing just behind Cersanne.

Cersanne had felt the presence behind her but refused to move her attention from the boy who continued to grip her hand, looking around wildly for some form of salvation.

Suddenly, she felt herself nudged to the side roughly. She looked to her left, about to protest before recognising the person beside her, his presence had become so familiar to her in the past weeks that she felt herself steady, despite his rude arrival.

Robb Stark. King in the North. Kneeling on the floor beside an injured Lannister soldier.

He never failed to surprise her.

The boy continued to plea his case, directly to Robb now, begging him.

“You’ll die if she doesn’t.”

His words did little to calm the patient, and Cersanne frowned as he continued to thrash wildly against her grasp. The small crowd around the boy continued their roles, Robb trying to force a piece of cloth into the boy’s mouth, the Silent Sister, well Cersanne wasn’t totally sure what her role was, and Cersanne, gripping the boy’s hand tightly as she offered her best words of comfort, knowing all the while they would mean nothing to the boy lying on the floor.

“Surely one of our men needs your attention more than this cub.”

Cersanne felt her gaze wander to Roose Bolton, her expression stony, ever the compassionate soul, but was surprised to see her expression mirrored on Robb Stark’s face.

“Put this in your mouth and lie down. You don’t want to watch.” Once again he tried to force the ragged cloth into the boy's mouth. “Bite on it! It’s better than biting your tongue, believe me.”

Cersanne prayed silently for the boy, unable to watch as the girl began to put the saw to work. The sound alone was almost too much to bear. Instead she focused her attention on Robb whose gaze fell on the boy and the other girl at intervals. Never on her. Cersanne ignored the jealousy building in her stomach. She had no claim on him. He could never be hers after all.

Later, Cersanne helped as the woman she now knew to be called Talisa, lifted the boy onto a carriage, hoping that somehow, things would be okay for him. She knew better than to believe they would be. If only she’d asked his name. Found some way to provide some comfort for his family. In his sorry state he'd be lucky to last a year before he was on the street. It was one of the many ways in which she wished more of Westeros was like Dorne; they would have taken care of him, and his family, had he been fighting for their troops. No such practice existed to help him here.

She looked at Talisa who nodded sadly at her, acknowledging their shared thoughts.

“What’s your name?”

Cersanne shook her head, excusing herself from what was, from Talisa’s expression, bound to be an uncomfortable conversation.

 

 


	5. How Could This Happen?

“ _One may smile, and smile, and be a villain_.”

\- William Shakespeare's Hamlet

* * *

 

Cersanne had been busying herself with a letter to Walder; a difficult feat when she realised she couldn’t risk using his name. Or her own. She bit the end of her quill, a habit her septa had nagged her about endlessly, as she tried to negotiate all the complications around what should have been a simple letter. Every time a solution occurred to her, another problem reared its ugly head.

She folded the parchment, before throwing her quill in frustration, not looking to see where it fell.

She heard a familiar laugh. “You seem troubled, My Lady.”

Cersanne grinned, before blushing as she noticed he was holding her quill in his fingertips. “A touch of writer’s block. I have much to tell my brother, Your Grace.”

“Your brother?”

She nodded, taking the quill from his outstretched hand and putting it down next to the parchment. “Half-brother, I suppose.” Given the rumours that surrounded her mother, it wasn’t necessarily a lie. She stood, blocking the sun from her eyes with the back of her hand as she squinted up at him. There was something different. His cloak maybe?

Robb chuckled as he noted her discomfort, grabbing her arms gently, and moving her to the side, out of the bright sun. “Better?”

Cersanne matched his grin with one of her own as she nodded. “Much. Thank you, Your Grace.”

They remained smiling at each other for a moment before he shook his head, blinking. “I have something for you. Follow me?”

Ever too curious for her own good, Cersanne nodded, following after him without a second thought.

She frowned as she realised they were headed towards his tent. Absently, she was aware the men were watching them. She shook her head, lifting her chin higher.

Let them think what they want. The opinions of the sheep do not matter to the lion.

She stole a glance at Robb. Unfortunately, this lioness _did_ care about the sheep’s opinions. Their gossip could bring harm to her wolf.

She shook her head again.

_You have no claim to him._

“You are aware the men are watching us?” She whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear.

Robb sighed, turning to her as they reached his tent. “There’s precious little else for them to watch, I’m afraid.” He held the opening of the tent out of her way.

His words were true enough; their latest campsite was hardly overflowing with entertainment. Still, she stole one last worried glance at their audience before slipping into the tent behind him.

It occurred to her as she stepped inside that she had never been in his personal tent.

Only ever the ones used for strategy meetings, and allowed herself to explore curiously whilst Robb went off to fetch her gift. It was surprisingly simple, and bare.

Several unlit candles stood around the room, the stands surprisingly simple. Maybe it was a Northern thing. Every candle holder in Casterly Rock had been ornately carved, most of the carvings of lion heads, of course, down to the most minute of details. Or maybe it was a being at war, and constantly on the move thing.

She looked at the Stark sigil; displayed proudly in nearly every corner. The fearsome grey direwolf on the crisp white field. As with everything she saw of the Stark's, it was difficult not to draw comparisons to the sigil of both House Frey, and House Lannister. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Grey Wind who watched her from his spot in the furthest corner, his yellow eyes never leaving her as she nosed around. Childishly, she poked her tongue out at the direwolf, who simply yawned in response, resting his giant head in his paws.

She looked back at the direwolf that adorned the banners. The likeness was close enough she supposed.

She resolutely refused to look at his bed, flushing at what the men who had watched them must be thinking. Instead, she toyed with one of the carved wolves that stood on Robb’s makeshift battlefield, admiring the craftsmanship, before putting it back carefully, afraid to ruin the plans, turning as Robb returned, carrying something in both hands.

“Here.” He held out what Cersanne now recognised to be a cloak. “I thought you might appreciate a proper cloak of your own.”

It was a touching gesture that had her throat tightening as she took the strangely familiar garment from him, wrapping it around her shoulders before she could change her mind.

“Now you’re ready for our trip to Winterfell. Someday.”

“Your Grace, I-”

He shook his head. “You don’t have to call me that when it’s just us. We’re friends.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Are we friends now?”

He laughed, helping her position the cloak over her shoulders, fastening the heavy clasp for her with surprisingly deft fingers. “I’d like to think so, _Martenya._ Wouldn’t you?”

“ _Friends_.” She grinned, pretending to consider it for a moment. “I think I like the sound of that, _Robb_.”

* * *

Some time later, Cersanne was wandering around the camp, ignoring the curious eyes of the men on her as they went about their business, preparing for another battle, or to move on to a different camp, she was never sure, and no one could, or _would_ , tell her when she asked.

She pulled Robb’s gift tighter around her. There was something so familiar about it; even the smell. She supposed all cloaks smelt more or less the same, she couldn’t be sure, having never really had cause to wear one in warmth of the South; but there was something different about the familiarity this smell that she couldn’t distinguish.

She frowned, unrolling the parchment she had been writing on earlier as she returned to her previous spot. It was hard to know what exactly to write. Of course, she couldn’t give away the Starks plans, the few she had overheard or guessed, even to her sweet brother. If her letter was intercepted, or Walder was tricked into revealing its contents, it would be a disaster.

“ _Some spy_ ,” a voice in the back of her head, one that sounded unnervingly similar to Cersei spat.

She pushed the thought away with a scowl.

She wondered momentarily how much Walder, or any of her brothers, knew of her task; what had her parents told them to explain her absence? Maybe they had come up with a clever lie. Her mother was Tywin Lannister’s sister, after all. Lying came upsettingly naturally to that particular branch of her family tree.

“ _Dearest Brother, I am writing this letter to you from a pretty, quiet spot, surrounded by trees, and grass, and more trees.”_

Cersanne laughed, shaking her head good naturedly at the poor attempt at mimicking her voice. “Not quite, Your Grace. I’m not nearly that gifted with words.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? What are you writing then?”

She pulled her parchment close to her chest as she stood. “Can a lady not keep _some_ secrets, Your Grace? Or are you so convinced that I’m a spy?”

Robb grinned. “Well, any spy worth their salt would have to deny being a spy, wouldn’t they?”

“I suppose they would.” Her grin matched his as she nodded, before sighing dramatically, a hand clutched to her heart, before bowing her head, schooling her expression into that of solemn remorse as she looked to the sky. “You have caught me then, Your Grace! I have been spying on you for the Lannisters! I have sent them details of the camp, and your plans!”

She stopped, realising what she had said. “That is to say-”

Robb chuckled. “I hardly believe you are a real spy, Martenya.”

Guilt pooled in her stomach as she met his gaze. “So you’re not going to feed me to Grey Wind?”

He rolled his eyes. “Not today.”

“ _Robb_.”

They both turned at the sound of Lady Stark’s approach.

“Mother!”

Cersanne stepped aside as the pair greeted each other with a quick embrace she was sure they wouldn’t have dared to share in front of the men. She felt herself smiling fondly at Robb’s clear joy at his mother’s return. She still wasn’t sure where Lady Stark had been, and hadn’t thought it her place to ask Robb about the matter, but the separation had clearly been difficult for both mother and son.

She remained silent as they continued their greeting, her eyes falling instead on the stern figure accompanying Lady Stark. With an embarrassed jolt, she realised the figure she had supposed was a man was, in fact, a tall, shorthaired woman wearing fine, golden armour, her hand resting on her sword as she stoically watched Robb and his mother.

She turned to excuse herself, blinking in shock as she met the eyes of Lady Stark who was already watching her. Robb turned, searching for the source of his mother’s distraction.

His eyes fell on Cersanne and he smiled.

“Mother, this is Lady Martenya.”

As Robb led his mother closer, Cersanne smoothed her dress, though it remained a hopeless mess despite her efforts, standing as straight as she could. Her mother, and septa would have been so ashamed to see her meeting a noblewoman in such a state. Still, it could hardly be helped. Besides, her mother was partially responsible for this mess at any rate.

She smiled politely, dipping into a curtsey as Lady Stark stepped towards her.

“Martenya has been helping around the camp for the past few weeks. She’s been very,” he paused, looking between his mother and Cersanne. “ _Helpful.”_

Cersanne laughed uncomfortably as Lady Stark gave Robb a startled glance.

“Lady Martenya.”

“Lady Stark, it’s truly an honour to meet you.”

Robb’s mother smiled, an expression Cersanne recognised as an exact copy of her son’s; it was suddenly apparent to her just how much Robb favoured his Tully side.

“Lady Martenya…”

Robb coughed awkwardly as Cersanne blushed. She had never had to introduce herself to any noble as a bastard; with the exception of Robb. The shame was almost physically painful.

“Martenya is from The Reach, Mother,” Robb said quickly as if that explained everything. It seemed the implication in his words was not lost on his mother who simply nodded her head, her pleasant smile faltering only slightly.

“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Martenya from The Reach. Thank you, for being so _helpful._ ”

Cersanne was not a fool, she recognised a dismissal when she heard one, and quickly excused herself. “Excuse me, My Lady. Your Grace.”

She could feel their eyes on her as she walked away, settling herself down again some distance from them to finish her letter. Unfortunately, it seemed she wasn’t far enough away not to hear their conversation. She blushed as she realised they were talking about her.

“I wish you were free to follow your heart, Robb, I really do; even if it did lead you to a bastard girl from The Reach. She is very pretty.”

“Mother.”

“But you are _not_ free, Robb.”

“I _know._ ”

Cersanne almost laughed at the whine she could hear in his voice. Clearly, Grey Wind took after his master.

“Accept my word, it’s not like that, Mother, Martenya is just a friend. I value her counsel, and company.”

Lady Stark scoffed. “A friend that wears your cloak, Robb? Don’t deny it. If I’ve noticed don’t you think the men have? Surely you’re not so naive as to think there aren’t already rumours. You are promised to another. A debt that _must_ be paid.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” Robb's tone was short. “I know nothing can happen. Isn’t that enough?”

Cersanne looked down at the cloak Robb had given her, suddenly realising why it had seemed so familiar.

_He had given her his own cloak._

Her thoughts drifted to how differently she had noticed the men treating her. None had made any crude comments about her since she had been wearing it. Her face grew hot as it dawned on her why. The thought of them gossiping about her made her head pound. What they must be thinking! And the Frey soldiers; they must think she was Robb’s whore. Or worse; that he’d gone back on his word.

Cersanne hurried after Robb and his mother, her fingers catching painfully on the clasp as she slid the cloak from around her shoulders, doing her best to ignore both the biting cold of the wind as she held it out to him, and the look in his eyes.

“I cannot keep this, Your Grace.”

She glanced towards Lady Stark, who was watching the exchange with a mixture of shock and, what looked very much like relief. She turned her attention back to Robb, her eyes firmly fixed on his. She couldn't bear to read his expression, afraid of what she might see.

“It was a _gift_ , Martenya.”

Cersanne nodded, fighting against a shiver. “A gift for which I am truly grateful, Your Grace; but it is a gift I cannot in good conscience keep."

"You're freezing."

She ignored him. "I cannot keep it. Not knowing what the men must be thinking when they see me wearing it.”

She heard Lady Stark breathe in softly, but couldn’t bring herself to turn from Robb to see the meaning.

“Why should I care what the men think? I am their _King_ ; they will think what I tell them to.”

Cersanne laughed bitterly. “We both know you’re not that kind of king. You’re honourable, and kind," She breathed in softly. "And you swore an oath to Walder Frey.”

She stepped backwards as Robb moved towards her, ignoring his mother’s arm on his shoulder, trying to stop him.

“Your Grace, My Lady. Mistress _Flowers_.” Roose Bolton appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, holding a roll of parchment in his hand, his expression dire. “News; from Winterfell.”

“Come on,” Robb urged heading in the direction of the tents. “You too, Martenya. We’re not finished with this discussion.”

Cersanne grimaced, pretending not to notice Lady Stark’s troubled gaze on her as she followed behind them as discreetly as possible.

* * *

 

“This cannot be true.”

Cersanne couldn’t find any words and knew they would not be welcome even if she could.

“We’ve had ravens from White Harbour, Barrowton and The Dreadfort; I’m afraid it is true.”

Lady Stark’s eyes closed in disbelief as her pacing continued. Shaking her head at intervals as she moved back and forth behind her son.

“ _Why?_ Why would Theon-”

“Because the Greyjoys are treasonous whores.”

It troubled Cersanne to note that such language had long ceased bothering her.

“My brothers?”

She turned to Lady Stark whose distress seemed to grow with each passing moment.

“We’ve heard nothing of them.”

Cersanne’s eyes closed. “The Others take that treacherous worm.”

She reached out for Lady Stark who seemed ready to faint. She was surprised to find the noblewoman grip her arm gratefully rather than pushing her away.

“But Rodrik Cassel is dead.” She had never known someone deliver so much bad news with so little emotion as Lord Bolton was managing. She supposed there must be a reason the Bolton sigil was a flayed man.

Cersanne did not know who this Rodrik Cassel was, and while she assumed she might have seen him around the camp, she couldn’t put a face to the name, but news of his death had a clear and profound impact upon both Starks.

“I told you; _never trust a Greyjoy_!” Lady Stark’s fingers gripped harder onto her arm. Cersanne supposed absently she might be leaving bruises.

“I must go North at once.”  Robb was out of his chair faster than anyone could stop him.

Immediately, Lady Stark dropped Cersanne’s arm, darting after her son, with Lord Bolton close behind, disagreeing with him, their hushed tones agitated.

“There’s still a war to win, Your Grace.”

“How can I call myself King if I can’t hold my own castle? How can I ask men to follow me if I can’t-”

Cersanne had never seen him so upset and it pained her more acutely than she dare let on. She schooled her face into a mask of distant sympathy as she tried to listen. Her thoughts instead jumbled. They’d all been too busy worrying about the Lannister forces to even consider such treason.

Her thoughts wandered to Theon; he had been the first person linked to the Starks she had met. He’d been a little forward with her, and she hadn’t much trusted him, but even she could never have predicted such treachery from him.

“There will be no talk, he will die for this.”

The harsh words dragged her from her thoughts, breathing in sharply at the tone, though neither Lady Stark nor Lord Bolton seemed overly surprised to hear Robb sentence his own friend to death so readily. Lady Stark looked to Cersanne, her expression pained as her thoughts obviously turned to her other sons.

“Theon holds the castle with a skeleton crew. Let me send word to my bastard at the Dreadfort. He can raise a few hundred men and retake Winterfell before the new moon. We have the Lannisters on the run. If you march all the way back North now, you’ll lose what you’ve gained.”

Cersanne knew little of strategy but enough to know he was right. Tywin would never let such an opportunity go to waste. He would take back the lands and spread rumours of the reason for Robb’s return and how much he must fear the Lannister troops to running back to Winterfell with his tail between his legs.

“My boy would be honoured to bring you Prince Theon’s head.”

Robb’s expression was stony as he listened to Lord Bolton. For the first time since she had met him, Cersanne was actually a little afraid of Robb. She could finally see the Young Wolf she had heard talk of. It was strange to think this was the same man who had been joking with her so easily earlier.

“You tell your son Bran and Rickon’s safety is paramount. And Theon; I want him brought to me alive. I want to look him in the eye and ask him why. And then I’ll take his head myself.”

Cersanne looked to Lady Stark who glanced in her direction briefly, before returning her attention to her son.

She sighed, before slipping out of the tent, unseen. Robb's cloak left on one of the chairs.

There was much to think about.

 


	6. We're Not Promised Tomorrow

“ _By the pricking of my thumbs,_

_Something wicked this way comes_.”

\- William Shakespeare's Macbeth.

* * *

 

“ _Put him with the Kingslayer for now_.”

Cersanne knew a bad idea when she heard one. Even kept as he had been for so many months, Jaime would not miss an opportunity when one presented itself. Surely Robb could see the multitude of ways in which her cousin might use this situation to his advantage. 

“Have your boy watch over them.”

She pressed against the side of the tent as Ser Alton was led away, hiding her face behind her long, tangled hair, still fearing that he might recognise her, dishevelled though she was. She didn't like to think of the consequences if he did. She ignored the other men passing her as Robb dismissed them. They barely spared her a glance. It seemed her perceived fall from Robb’s favour made her less interesting to most of the men, and certainly not worth paying any common courtesy.

_It was for the best._

If she had been more sensible, she wouldn’t have been eavesdropping on the conversation Ser Alton’s return had prompted.

She still owed her cousin an update.

She frowned, looking at the camp before returning her attention to the tent. The rustling of paper from inside confirming her belief that Robb hadn’t left with his advisers.

“An unsurprising result, don’t you think?” She quipped as she rounded the corner, laughing as Robb dropped the papers he was holding in shock.

“It’s been a while, My Lady.”

Cersanne had been trying not to think of that last encounter, the uncomfortable conversation that had only been stopped by the timely interruption of Lord Bolton. It had been weeks, and she had still been avoiding him as best she could. Not that she would admit it. “I suppose it has, Your Grace.”

He walked towards her slowly, his smile widening as she stepped back. “Do I frighten you?”

She laughed. “Do I frighten _you_?”

His smiled faltered for a second before morphing into a wide grin. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“And you’re avoiding the one I asked _you_ when I arrived.”

He shook his head, a gesture that told Cersanne she had won, for now, amusement still lingering in his bright eyes. “In answer to _that_ question; no, I suppose I’m not surprised. Though it doesn’t hurt to try.”

She laughed, swatting at a stray strand of hair on her face. “No, I suppose it doesn’t. About before,” Cersanne blushed, thinking of how she had behaved.

Robb frowned, moving the strand of her off her face. “ _Don’t_. You were right-”

“I was rude!” She paused, almost laughing at the shock on his face at her interruption. It had probably been a while since anyone had spoken over him. Not many people interrupted their king after all. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t interrupt you, Your Grace.”

His eyes bore into hers. “Please, continue, My Lady.”

She blinked, turning from him, pretending not to notice that he had returned to using formalities to address her.  “You gave me a gift. I was wrong to speak to you the way I did. It really was appreciated,  _Robb_.”

She took his hand before she could think better of it. "Truly."

She blushed as he squeezed her hand gently between his in return.

“If I returned it to you, would you take it as an insult?”

She shook her head. “No.”

He released his hold on her, removing the cloak he was wearing and wrapping it round her shoulders, the heavy weight of the fabric was comforting. “It suits you, _Martenya_.”

She breathed in at the sound of her name. “I think it might be a little big.” She tried to ignore the way he was staring at her.

She laughed, trying to ease the sudden tension between them.

_He’s not yours, he’s not yours, he’s not yours._

She had repeated the mantra so many times it was beginning to lose it’s meaning. _Just one step closer._

She blinked, breaking the spell.

Robb cleared his throat, laughing gently, his breath almost as uneven as her heartbeats.

“And to answer _your_ original question. No, you don’t frighten me.”

* * *

 

Later, Cersanne would question the thought process that led her to the pens once more. She had all but decided she wasn’t going to return to Jaime for as long as she was spending time as part of the Stark camp. It was too confusing.

“Who did you say your mother was again?”

Cersanne rolled her eyes. Of course she would hear Jaime before she could see him. She continued walking, wrapping Robb’s cloak tighter around her to fight off the biting wind that was whipping her hair about her face. She wondered if Robb's new cloak was as warm as the one he had given her. She hoped so.

“Cinda Lannister.”

Cersanne thought for a moment, trying to put a face to the name, giving up after a while. There were far too many Lannisters to even try to remember them all, even with all of her septa's frustrated lessons sitting in front of the vast family tree.

“Is she the fat one?”

Always so tactful.

“Well, perhaps she’s gotten a little larger than she-”

“No, no. There’s only one fat Lannister. If she was your mother, you’d know it.”

Cersanne felt herself blush on her mother’s behalf. What a claim to fame. The _only_   _fat Lannister_. For a moment she wondered if Jaime knew she was nearby. She wouldn’t put it past him to say such a thing simply to spite her, but as the conversation continued, she supposed he must be so used to saying what he was thinking without consequence that it simply didn’t register to him that he was being unbearably rude.

“The tournament, the day of Willem Frey’s wedding.”

Realisation dawned on Cersanne suddenly. That was why Ser Alton had looked so familiar. She remembered him, a hapless little thing rushing around, desperate to gain favour and attention.

She hadn't thought about her nephew's wedding in a long time. She hadn't thought about her _nephew_ for a long time. He wasn't much younger than Cersanne herself. She wondered what had become of him now. He had been a page at Ashemark. Robb had taken Ashemark. She hoped for Cleos' sake he had survived the attack. Even a second son was a son; even to her insipid older brother.

“I went to Willem Frey’s wedding?”

“You did. Your squire had gotten so drunk the night before that he threw up-”

“He threw up on his horse on his way to the tourney grounds. What was his name?”

 _Bryan_. His squire had been called Bryan. Now  _that_  Cersanne did remember. Cleos had been so insulted by the behaviour that he had turned a shade of red that was closer to black than crimson. She had feared for Bryan’s life almost as much as she had wondered if it was actually possible for a man’s head to explode when she had seen the alarming shade her brother had turned. It shamed her to remember she had been hoping it might be. 

She heard Jaime laugh nostalgically. “Poor lad. That was my brother’s doing, I seem to recall.”

Cersanne remembered Tyrion offering her copious amounts of wine until her mother had stepped in to stop him. It had only been her begging her mother to not make a scene that had saved her favourite cousin from a severe beating. Still, the hangover the next day had been quite enough to convince her that she would never again accept win from Tyrion. Or anyone else for that matter.

“It’s a rare talent. Most of my squires,” he shrugged. “They mean well but, young men with big jobs, they tend to overdo them.”

“Well, when I think back to that day-”

Cersanne had almost gotten close enough to see Alton's face clearly. A Stark soldier appeared suddenly, hushing the pair aggressively before continuing about his business. Cersanne ducked behind another pen, anxious not to be noticed. There was no way she'd be able to explain her presence away. Once the man had moved on she continued on her way, staying out of sight of both cousins. It was an enlightening conversation.

“You were saying?”

“I - never mind; it’s embarrassing.”

She imagined it might be if he was about to gush as much as she expected. 

“More embarrassing that being chained to a post, covered in your own shit?”

Cersanne bit her tongue to keep from laughing. It was a true enough statement. She had been quite impressed by Ser Alton’s ability not to mention the stench. Even from a distance it was no small task to keep herself from gagging. It was still strange to see her proud cousin in such a state. 

" _That was the best day of my life_. And I remember being on the field after it was over. All the competitors were done, I was the last one out there. But I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t bring myself to go and sit with my family at a table so far on the edge of the feast that you could barely see the bride.”

Cersanne sighed. She had never thought what it must be like to be a member of one of the lower branches of the family tree. Included but not really a part of anything. Family, but not part of  _the_ family. She had never realised just how lucky she was, and yet, listening to this boy talking so animatedly, so proudly, about one day in his life, one day that was so insignificant to Jaime that he had forgotten all about it. Cersanne certainly couldn’t remember it in so much detail as Ser Alton did; one day that had clearly meant everything to him, just from getting the tiniest bit of attention from the Jaime Lannister. Cersanne felt ashamed.

She shook her head, listening with indifference as Jaime told his own story of being a sixteen year old squire. She’d heard the story before. Her own mother had been telling Walder, then only about six years old, and crying after Cleos had taunted him for not knowing that a boy that had scarcely seen his sixth nameday couldn't be a knight, that even the great Jaime Lannister had been a squire once, not a knight, and that he had been a terrible one at that.

It was one of Cersanne’s favourite memories of her mother. The look on Walder’s face as he listened to her, completely enraptured by the tale. Cersanne had only just seen her eighth nameday herself and still dreamed of being a knight rather than a lady; back when such thoughts were still considered innocent enough to be sweet rather than improper, even by her septa. For weeks afterwards she had argued with Walder over who got to be Ser Barristan when they played make believe in the gardens.

She smiled fondly at the memory.

“Ned Stark, I imagine he made an excellent prisoner right up until the end.”

Cersanne returned her attention to the conversation at the mention of Robb’s father.

“Not me, though. My life has left me uniquely unfit for constraint.” 

She watched Ser Alton creep closer. A strange feeling washed over her. _Apprehension._

“Good prisoners breed good jailers, apparently.”

Cersanne was surprised to feel a proud smile growing on her face. She schooled her face quickly, suddenly afraid one of them would see her, and the fondness in her expression. 

“The Starks are very careful. There is a way, I think. It wasn’t possible until now.”

Cersanne watched as the two moved closer, the smile dropping from her face as a terrible thought occurred to her. She rushed forward, no longer afraid of who saw her. She had to reach them before Jaime could do what she realised she had already been fearing. The cause of her apprehension.

_Please, no._

“You have to die.”

She froze as she heard the rattle of chains and the sounds of dying. She knew before she reached them that there was nothing she could do. She moved to call out as a Stark bannerman walked into the pen, but found no sound would come out.

She watched as Jaime snuck out, pausing to look at her. He raised a blood soaked finger to his lips, winking at her before rushing off into the night.

Cersanne’s limbs felt heavy as she approached the pen. Her heart pounding erratically in her chest as she looked inside.

The smell of blood and human waste assaulted her nostrils and she wretched, steadying herself before pressing forward. The body of Ser Alton was  _still_  convulsing but she knew from one look that there was nothing she could do for him.

She looked to the Stark soldier instead. His skin was ashen, an unnatural shade of grey and his eyes stared up into hers lifelessly.

* * *

When Cersanne woke she found herself staring at the roof of an unfamiliar tent. She sat bolt upright, startled and confused. 

“Gently!”

The voice came from the left of her. She turned in its direction, relaxing slightly at the sight of Lady Stark, watching her with a mixture of worry and exasperation that only a mother could manage.

“Gently,  _gently_. You’ve been out for almost a day.” 

Cersanne raised a hand to her head, feeling a bump there. “What happened?”

Lady Stark held out a goblet of water. “Drink. You were found unconscious in Jaime Lannister’s cell. Next to the bodies of one of our men and one of the Kingslayer’s kinsmen. Do you remember how you got there?”

Memories of that night came rushing back in quick flashes making her feel queasy. “I remember looking for somewhere quiet to finish a letter to my brother, the next thing I remember was seeing Jai-  _the Kingslayer_  striking that poor boy with a rock. I tried to alert someone but I-” Her voice shook as tears rolled down her cheeks. “It was too late. There was nothing I could do.”

Lady Stark nodded slowly, gently pushing the water towards Cersanne’s mouth again. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

Cersanne nodded. “I don’t think he saw me, My Lady.”

There was a sudden commotion outside the tent.

Lady Stark looked towards the noise and back at Cersanne, her expression torn. “Stay here. I'll return in a moment.”

Cersanne waited for Lady Stark to leave before standing, her legs shaking as she made her way to the opening of the tent. She peeked out of the gap, gasping at the sight of Jaime being dragged through the cheering crowd.

Cersanne would have flinched as she watched her cousin being beaten but the sight of Ser Alton and the nameless Stark soldier's bodies was seared into her thoughts, returning to the forefront of her mind every time she so much as blinked.  

Trying to distract herself from the memory, she watched curiously as Lady Stark stepped between Lord Karstark, who was angrily vowing vengeance for his son, and Jaime.

“Lord Karstark! This man is our prisoner!”

“This monster killed my son!”

“And  _crippled mine_! He will answer for his crimes, I promise you, but not here.”

“I will have his head. And if you try and stop me-”

Ignoring the wave of nausea movement caused, Cersanne forced herself forward at the sound of this threat. He dared to threaten the mother of his own king?

“You will strike me down? Have you forgotten me, Ser? I am the widow of your liege, Lord Eddard Stark, I am the mother of your king!”

“Where is our king now?”

Until that point, Cersanne hadn’t noticed Robb’s absence from the fray. She laughed at herself as she realised she was scanning the crowds for him. He would never have allowed them to talk to his mother in such a way had he been there.

“You know very well. He has gone to The Crag to accept the surrender.”

She heard Lord Karstark scoff. “Aye, gone to The Crag, but not to negotiate. He’s brought that  _bastard bitch_ with him. Don’t think we haven’t noticed that one’s absence.”

“ _How dare you_?”

Cersanne cringed back from the words, realising belatedly that he was describing her. Was that what they thought? She straightened her shoulders, ignoring the fact that she was in her night clothes as she walked towards the crowd. There were some murmurs from the crowd as her presence was noticed. Cersanne focused her attention of Lord Karstark who had the decency to look back to Lady Stark when he noticed her attire.

“Threatening my lady is an act of treason!”

It was then Cersanne noticed the presence of the tall woman she had first seen when she was introduced to Lady Stark. If she remembered correctly she had later been introduced as Brienne of Tarth, a former member of Renly Baratheon’s Kingsguard. She seemed a little intense for Cersanne to really want to get to know her, but she was incredibly loyal to Lady Stark and Cersanne had to admire her tenacity.

“ _Treason_? How can it be treason to kill Lannisters?”

Cersanne risked a glance at Jaime who was watching the exchange with an irritatingly amused expression. She didn't support Lord Karstark's methods, but, with the image of the bodies of those poor boys lingering in her thoughts, it was hard to not want to see her cousin dead.

“I understand your grief, My Lord, better than most, I understand it. But in the name of my son, the King in the North, stand down.”

As Cersanne watched the exchange it struck her that Robb had inherited more than his Tully good looks from his mother. She was exceptionally adept at giving speeches, just her tone alone was enough to make it clear that she would hear no arguments.

“When your son returns, I will demand this murderer’s head.”

“Wise men do not make demands of kings.”

The look on Lord Karstark’s face at this scared Cersanne. He looked genuinely  _mad_  and she knew that mad men did not make wise decisions. She'd heard Jaime's stories of the Mad King's final days often enough.

“Fathers who love their sons do. I will have his head.”

Cersanne let out a shaky breath as Lord Karstark stalked away, she was rather impressed to note that Lady Stark managed to maintain her composure until he was out of sight before closing her eyes, letting out an uneven breath of her own.

“Thank you for fighting on my behalf, Lady Stark.”

Cersanne didn’t turn her attention to her cousin, closing her eyes against the queasiness that even his voice churned in her stomach.

“I would have come to your defence but-”

“Take him to the stockades. Bind him with every chain you can find!”

She heard Jaime chuckle softly as he was pulled to his feet. “You’ve become a real she-wolf in your later years. There’s not much fish left in you!” 

Lady Stark turned to face Cersanne as she called out a final order to the men dragging Jaime away. “And  _gag_  him!”

She reached out for Cersanne’s hand, pulling her back towards the tent with more force than the younger woman had expected. 

“My Lady, I’m sorry, I know you told me to stay-”

Their pace slowed slightly at that. "At least your disobedience served to quiet the rumours about you and my son.”

Cersanne bowed her head. “I don’t mean to invite such rumours, My Lady.”

Lady Stark turned, giving her a calculating look. “No, I don’t think you do. Unfortunately, the men will believe what they want to believe.”

Cersanne shook her head. “It is so unfair.”

At this Lady Stark smiled sadly. “And just like that you betray your age, child. Little in this world is  _fair_. Surely you've seen enough to understand that by now.”

 


	7. You Say That as if You’d Like Something to Happen

“ _Men in rage strike those that wish them best_.”

\- William Shakespeare's Othello.

* * *

Cersanne had returned once more to sit on the moss-covered stump she had been favouring for the past few days; watching as Robb climbed the hill, his pace slow, his expression thoughtful as he continued on his way.

She listened to the rhythmic sound of his sword hitting against his armour with each step, her breath falling into the same steady rhythm unbidden.

" _Traitor_ ," she muttered.

She breathed in the fresh air, grateful to be away from the encampment, even if it was only a brief respite, touching the bump on her head, and massaging it gently, before looking up as Robb came closer. “Hello, Your Grace.”

The grin that had appeared on his face even before he had looked up made her treacherous heart skip a beat. “My Lady!”

She stood as he neared, quickly giving him a once over. She could have sworn he had grown taller since she had last seen him. It felt like years though she knew it had barely been a week. She realised with a start just how much she had missed him.

_He’s not yours._

She shook her head. “How was your trip?” She asked, dropping into a quick curtsy that made him raise an eyebrow, before falling into step beside him as he continued on towards the camp.

“Fruitful. _They_ agreed to the terms for their surrender.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “I’m glad. At any rate, it’s one less army for you to fight.”

He nodded. “Yes. The camp continued to run smoothly in my absence, I trust?”

She nodded again before sighing.

“What happened?”

Cersanne frowned before filling him in quickly; careful to keep Lord Karstark’s comments about her from her retelling. There was no need for Robb to hear that. She felt his eyes on her, narrowing slightly as she finished. “The Kingslayer’s back in his cell now.”

Robb shook his head. “I suppose my father was right.” He exhaled deeply, his breath coming out in hot plumes against the frigid wind.

Cersanne pulled his cloak tighter around her. “How so?”

Robb smiled, his thoughts clearly on his father as he kicked at the grass with the toe of his heavy boot. “He once told me that being a lord was like being a father. I didn’t understand at the time, but now, some of these men." He frowned, considering. "It’s like trying to keep an eye on thousands of children, all of them wanting something different. My father told me he had six children of his own but thousands to worry about. Every single one of them. Even the lowest of the lowborns. I’m responsible for all of them now. They are all mine to protect. Father used to say he woke with fear in the morning and went to bed with fear in the night. I didn’t believe him. I asked him; how can a man be brave if he’s afraid? Do you know what he told me?”

_“That’s the only time a man can be brave.”_

His eyes snapped up to meet hers, surprised as he regarded her. “Exactly. How did you know?”

“I remembering hearing my mother say it to my brother once. She told me it was something her brother had told her. Only, I don’t think he put it in quite such poetic terms.” Cersanne smiled. “I think you’d be a good father.”

He laughed, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “Aye?”

She blushed as she nodded.

_He’s not yours._

“Your betrothed is a lucky woman, Robb. Truly.”

“ _Martenya_.” He stopped, brow furrowed as he looked at her. “I don’t want -”

“What’s her name, Your Grace?” Cersanne looked at the men following a few steps behind them. She hoped they hadn’t been listening to them too closely. “You never did tell me.”

His eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “Frey, I suppose. I never thought to ask her first name. I’ve never even seen her.”

Cersanne couldn’t help it. She laughed at the expression on his face as the realisation of how absurd this fact was hit him.

“I’m marrying her and I don’t even know her _name_! What a wedding it shall be.”

She smiled as he barked out a bewildered laugh.

“I’m sure it will be. And you’ll all be very happy. You, her, and the bridge she brought you.”

Robb opened his mouth to speak, all laughter gone from his face, jumping at the sound of heavy hooves approaching.

“Your Grace! M’lady! The Kingslayer; he escaped in the night.”

Cersanne’s heart pounded painfully as Robb turned to her.

“You said he’d been recaptured.”

She shook her head. “He _had_. I saw him only last night.”

She’d forced herself to go to the prisoner’s pens. To actually look at him. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to get too close, but he had definitely been there when she had visited.

Robb turned back to the rider. “How?”

There was no response, but the man on the horse looked troubled. Whatever the answer, he didn’t want to be the bearer of the news. Worry gnawed at Cersanne’s gut as her gaze darted between the two men.

“ _How_?” Robb demanded again, his voice tight with agitation.

The man on the horse, she thought his name might be Jon, or something of the like, but she wasn’t certain, glanced at her warily before returning his focus to Robb.

“Lady Stark, Your Grace.”

Cersanne felt her heart sink in her chest.

Before anyone could say anymore, Robb was charging in the direction of the camp, ignoring the men calling out to him as they realised what was happening. Cersanne looked at the bewildered and unsure men watching him. She rolled her eyes.

“I’ll go after him then, shall I?”

They looked at each other as she grabbed her skirts in both hands, chasing after him as quickly as she could manage on the uneven ground.

“Your Grace, wait. _Wait_!”

“My own mother!”

She shook her head. “You don’t know what happened. Give her a chance to explain herself before you go making accusations!”

He spared her a withering glance, before continuing his punishing pace. “You really think they’d come to me with accusations against my own mother, the mother of their king, with no proof? Martenya, you’re smarter than that.”

She had to admit he was probably right about that. “Well...She must have had a good reason, Your Grace.”

He nodded. “I’m sure she thought she did too.”

Cersanne’s makeshift boots were not made for such a hurried pace over such uneven terrain. She felt her ankles ready to give out under her, but continued to rush after Robb, eager to make him see sense before he reached his mother. “Please.”

His pace faltered slightly, before he continued on his way. “Martenya. I know you want to help, but you don’t know what this means.”

“Then tell me. Help me understand. Please, _Robb_.” She gasped breathlessly as the ground finally won its battle with her ankle as it twisted painfully beneath her, caught in her skirt.

Robb turned, his expression torn as he glanced back at the camp before walking back to her. She took his offered arm gratefully. “This will bring discord to the whole camp. There are so many men under my rule that want the Kingslayer’s head, you know that as well as I do. How am I supposed to ask them to continue to follow me when my _own mother_ has not only stolen their hopes for vengeance, but disobeyed me to do so?”

Cersanne walked beside him in silence for the rest of the walk, her ankle protesting with every step, her head pounding as she tried to think of a way to spare Lady Stark the wrath that was sure to rain down upon her from all directions.

* * *

 

“You knew I would not allow it, and you did it anyway.”

“Bran and Rickon are captives in Winterfell. Sansa and Arya are captives in King’s Landing. I have five children and only one of them is free!”

Cersanne glanced at Lord Karstark who was watching the exchange with barely contained rage. She pushed herself further back against the coarse material of the tent.

“I lost one son fighting by your son’s side. I lost another to the Kingslayer, strangled with a chain.”

Finally, for the nameless boy she had seen slain at her cousin’s hand. _Torrhen_. She thought they might have spoken briefly once. 

“You commit treason because your children are _prisoners_? I would carve out my heart and offer it to The Father if he would let my sons wake from their graves and step into a prison cell.”

Cersanne felt for him, no one deserved to die the way Torrhen, or Alton, had, and Lady Stark’s actions had been reckless, but seeing Robb’s mother look so beaten down broke her heart. She couldn’t imagine how difficult her life had been these past months.

“I grieve for your sons, My Lord, but-”

“I don’t want your grief, I want my vengeance.”

“Vengeance and justice are not the same thing,” Cersanne whispered softly.

She blushed as she felt their eyes fall on her. Lady Stark offered her a small smile, but the eyes of Lord Karstark were hard.

“And she stole the chance for either from me, bastard. So keep your whore’s tongue silent.”

Cersanne felt the words as if they were a physical slap to her face. She glanced to Robb whose expression hadn’t changed. If the words had had any effect on him, he was doing a good job of hiding it. She shrank back once more, meeting Lady Stark’s stunned eyes. She dared another glance at Robb whose eyes remained on his mother, cold and harsher than she had ever seen them, before slipping from the tent.

She wandered the camp for a while, shaken by Lord Karstark's words, careful not to stray too far alone as the sky darkened above her. She didn’t want a repeat of that first incident. The more she walked, the more she realised it wasn't Lord Karstark's words that had shaken her; she knew most of the men were muttering similar things behind her back despite their smiles to her face, but Robb's reaction. Or rather, his lack of one. They were friends, and yet he had stood by silently when she was insulted in front of him.

She told herself that the release of Jaime was more important, and it was, of course it was. Even so, Robb's silence had hurt.

As the hours crept by, she found herself stopping outside Lady Stark’s tent again, and again. The urge to check on Robb's mother gnawing at her with each step.

Cersanne sighed, before moving round to the front of the tent, surprised to see Robb’s mother was already looking at her.

From Lady Stark’s wry smile, it was clear that the shock Cersanne felt was written all over her face. “I was wondering when you were going to stop pacing, and join me.”

A smile crept onto Cersanne’s face. “I’m sorry, My Lady. May I join you?”

Lady Stark nodded, stepping further into the tent in a silent invitation. Cersanne followed silently behind.

As she went to sit opposite the older woman, Cersanne noticed the guards for the first time. She looked at Lady Stark quizzically.

“Robb’s orders. I am to be guarded day and night. To stop me from doing anything else foolish, I assume.”

“Lady Stark, I-”

She was silenced by a firm shake of Lady Stark’s head. “No, he’s right. I have weakened our position, but I did it in the name of my children, and for that reason, I would do it again.”

Cersanne nodded. Maybe one day she too would understand that fierce motherly instinct. At that moment, such a day seemed a millennia away. “Even so, My Lady, Lord Karstark should not have spoken to you in the way he did. It was improper of him.”

“No, he probably shouldn’t have. But he did. The way he spoke to _you_ , however, was unforgivable.”

Cersanne blushed at the reminder of his words. “He's never liked me. Besides, he only said what everyone else has been thinking for weeks, My Lady. At least he said it right to me face. I _am_ a bastard and I fear the whole camp considers me a whore.” The last word caught in her throat, the shame it caused her was almost choking. “I’m not a whore.”

Lady Stark rested her hand on Cersanne’s wrist with a gentle, almost motherly pat. “I believe you, child, but the way you look at Robb sometimes, and the way he looks at you,” she paused, seeming to consider her next words carefully, before fixing her with a concerned look. “I’m afraid it troubles me a great deal, Martenya.”

The heat rose in Cersanne’s cheeks once more. “I know nothing can happen, Lady Stark, and I would not see him break his vow to Walder Frey. I know what that would mean, and I would sooner the whole of Westeros considered me a whore than see Robb or his men come to harm because of me.”

Lady Stark sighed. “This is not the life I wanted for him. This isn’t what I wanted for any of my children. Would that Ned had refused Robert and stayed in Winterfell.”

Cersanne gave the other woman a moment to compose herself. “Tell me about Winterfell, Lady Stark?”

“I was so frightened when Ned first took me North. I thought it grim and grey. And so very cold. I was used to Riverrun, you must remember. Winterfell is much larger. I hated it at first, all that stone, all that _grey;_ grey granite, and grey stone, and grey iron, and a grey husband.” She laughed softly. “Eventually, though, I came to love it as I came to love my grim, grey husband. Ned had a good heart, a _kind_ heart. He built me a sept, you know, so that I could pray to my own Gods.”

Tears burned in Cersanne’s eyes. “I wish I could have met him.”

“Robb’s very like him, not in looks, of course. Only Arya favours him in that way. Ned was noble, honourable, and above all he believed in justice. He loved us all so fiercely, and he wanted to protect us all.”

She nodded, she could see what Catelyn meant when she said Robb was like his father. “And your other children?”

Lady Stark thought for a moment, her eyes bright as she thought of her children. “Sansa is the most beautiful, sweet girl. She’s always been the perfect little lady, except when she sees lemon cakes, I've never known a girl able to eat so many cakes. I always expected her to marry a lord and run her own household, somewhere nearby. She lived in a fairytale, filled with handsome princes, honourable knights and courtly love. I’m afraid she’s probably found the reality quite different. Little Arya, my witty pup. She always wanted to be outside with the boys, always getting into fights and upsetting her septa.” Lady Stark shook her head fondly. “She’s terrible at needlework, but a gifted horsewoman, like her late aunt. I’m told she is like Lyanna in many ways. She’s pretty too, not in the same way as Sansa, and she doesn’t know it, but she has such a sweet little face.”

Cersanne could hear Lady Stark choke back tears.

“And my littlest boys; Bran, and Rickon. Before his fall, Bran was more monkey than wolf. He was always climbing. I swear he was climbing before he could walk.”

Cersanne laughed.

“He’s such a sweet little boy, always so considerate, always quick to laugh. But he’s stubborn as a mule. He wanted to join the Kingsguard, you know. I was always so proud of him. And Rickon, my baby. He’s still so young, he shouldn’t be stuck up there with Theon sacking the castle. I was told he went on a rampage when he found out Robb was leaving. He’s such a spirited little thing.”

Cersanne watched sadly as tears rolled down Lady Stark’s cheeks.

“I would do anything to keep my children safe. _Anything_.”

* * *

Cersanne picked at the dry skin on her fingers, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth as she debated the wisdom of her next move. Before she could second guess herself again she pushed the opening of the tent aside.

“Your Grace, My Lord.” She curtsied, bowing her head in Lord Bolton’s direction. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I can come back-"

“We’ll continue this later, Your Grace.”

Lord Bolton excused himself, giving Cersanne a calculating glance as he left. She decided she didn’t much want to dwell on its meaning.

Robb looked at her for a moment before nodding towards a chair opposite him as he sat. “Sit.”

Cersanne shook her head. “I’d rather stand, Your Grace.”

“Sit, _Martenya_. Please.”

She glanced back at the opening of the tent. Again, she chewed on her bottom lip, before acquiescing to Robb’s request. Finally, she met his eyes. “Robb-”

“About what was said before; what Lord Karstark said, what he called you – what I allowed him to call you.”

Cersanne shook her head. “He didn’t say anything a thousand other men haven’t been thinking.”

Robb frowned. “He should not have said it. I shouldn’t have let him.

“I do not need you to fight my battles for me, Your Grace.”

“And I do not need to allow my friends to be insulted in front of me. Especially when you were trying to help. In your own way.” He smiled ruefully. “It won’t happen again.”

She closed her eyes. “What was said was said. I would not like to dwell on it.” She looked up at him. “How are you?”

Robb narrowed his eyes. “How am I? I’ve had to arrest my mother. The Lannisters have my sisters, the man I considered my closest friend has seized my home and my brothers, I’m fighting a war, and I don’t know if I should march South or North.”

Cersanne smiled softly. “So a regular day in the life of a king?”

Robb looked at her, his lips parting in surprise. “And what do you know of life as a king?”

“Not a great deal, Your Grace,” She admitted. “But I’ve always imagined it to be filled with backstabbing and difficult decisions.” She looked at his startled expression. “Sorry, that was a stupid joke. I am sorry to hear you so troubled.”

“No. Please don’t be sorry, Martenya. You’re kind to ask at all, I think you’re the only one who has asked me that, besides my mother, since my father was murdered.”

Cersanne bowed her head as he took her hand. “Please don’t. Nothing can happen between us and it makes the rumours worse.”

Robb’s gripped tightened as he laughed. “Martenya, you say that as if you’d like something to happen.”

Her eyes widened as he grinned. “It’s not funny, Robb.”

“Kings are expected to have mistresses.” He laughed again as he studied her expression. “That’s not the kind of king I want to be,” he decided, loosening his grip on her hand.

Guilt coiled in Cersanne’s gut as she realised she was grateful he hadn’t let go altogether.

“What kind of king do you want to be?”

 “I don’t know, Martenya.” He sighed. “The good kind?”

“Is there such a thing? How do you define a good king?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Most kings grew up princes, they spend their whole lives preparing for the crown. I was raised to be Lord of Winterfell.”

Cersanne laughed. “What we’re raised to be is seldom what we become. I was raised to a perfect lady. I was taught needlework and how to read, to write; I can even speak a little High Valyrian. If you had a harp here I could play it. My mother was quite thorough, I assure you.”

“A well-educated bastard.”

Cersanne blushed at her mistake. “And what of your brother, Jon? Was he not well educated?”

Robb nodded. “Yes, he was, and he was always better than me with a sword.” He frowned. “If your mother was so thorough about your education, how did you end up here? She can hardly have had this place in mind when making sure you could play a harp.”

She laughed at the thought. “Perhaps I just grew bored of my charmed existence. Perhaps I decided being a spy was more my forte.”

He grinned. “Oh really?”

Cersanne shook her head, sighing dramatically. “I’m told I’m not much of a spy,” she shoot him a sidelong glare. “My parents, well my mother really, wanted me to see more of the world. Somehow in doing that I ended up here. In a tent with The King in the North.”

“I wonder what you mother would say about that.”

“Ladies aren’t supposed to use that sort of language, Your Grace, especially not in front of a king.”

He laughed, his bright eyes shining in the candlelight. “Maybe not, but we’re friends, Martenya.”

“Are you sure?” Cersanne stood, turning from him as he moved to follow her. “The way the men watch us. I don’t think it’s wise.”

“I admire your counsel, even when it is not asked for, and I enjoy your company. We _are_ friends, Martenya.” He tugged on her shoulders gently, turning her to face him once more.

She felt hot tears pool in her eyes as he rubbed her shoulders gently. “I don’t want to be your _friend."_


	8. Of Words and Terrible Ideas

“ _I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation._

_It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun_."

\- Jane Austen’s Pride & Prejudice

* * *

 

The night’s wind was frigidly cold as the biting breeze whipped at Cersanne’s face.

It had been several hours since she had left Robb’s tent in a hurry, apologising profusely for her words, and silently praying he wouldn’t follow.

He hadn’t.

Cersanne pulled Robb’s old cloak tighter around her. Despite the fact Robb hadn’t worn it since he had gifted it to her, she occasionally caught a hint of his familiar smell on the furs, when the wind blew in the right direction. She blushed as she thought of how quickly she had rushed from his tent earlier that evening. As she thought of the words that had caused her flight.

She looked up at the constellations, eager to take her mind off of Robb. The night sky was cloudy, but she could still make out the Ice Dragon, its blue eye bright in the north. She looked for the other stars for a moment, but the clouds were too thick to pick out any of the others.

Cersanne sighed, looking back at the camp. She supposed she should return to her tent. After all, it wasn’t seemly for a lady to be wandering alone. Really, it wasn’t seemly for a lady to be wandering the camp at all, but that was a worry she had long since set aside. For the most part at least.

There was a low whine from beside her.

She turned, startled. “Grey Wind! You scared me, boy.” She reached out a hand, smiling as the direwolf sniffed her palm quickly, before positioning himself comfortably beneath her fingers.

Cersanne laughed softly as he grumbled lowly, clearly enjoying himself as she stroked his ears. “You daft thing.”

A thought suddenly occurred to her. Grey Wind rarely strayed too far from Robb’s side. She glanced around them, her eyes spotting nothing in the darkness other than Grey Wind’s bright, yellow eyes, which seemed to be almost glowing in the moonlight.

 She relaxed slightly, smoothing her skirts with her free hand before standing. “I should be getting back. Come on, boy.”

Grey Wind remained close to her side the entire way back, his presence a comfort even though she trusted that most of the men wouldn’t touch her. Not with the rumours of her relationship with Robb. Upsetting though she found them, she was grateful they had, thus far, prevented a repeat of her first night at the camp.

They were almost back to Cersanne’s tent when Grey Wind finally fell out of step with her, seemingly satisfied that she could make it the rest of the way unaided. She laughed as she watched the direwolf bound away, deceptively elegant for such a giant beast, clearly off to find some scraps of food left over from the night’s meal.

She watched Grey Wind’s antics for a moment, before walking into her tent, freezing at the sight that greeted her.

Robb was standing in the middle of her tent, looking as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

“Robb!” She flinched at how loud her voice sounded, even to her, lowering her voice to a hiss as a million thoughts fought in her head. “What are you doing here?”

She moved closer to him, eager to have the opening of the tent close behind her, to block out the prying eyes of the men who were slowly making their way to their beds.

“ _Didyoumeanwhatyousaid_?”

“ _What?_  " Cersanne blinked."I mean, _pardon_ , Your Grace?”

She watched as colour crept into Robb’s checks, barely visible through his scruffy beard.

“I _said_ ; did you mean what you said?”

It was Cersanne’s turn to blush. “Robb, don’t.”

“You said you didn’t want to be my friend.” He was watching her reaction warily. “What did you mean by that? Have I not been a good friend to you? Do you not enjoy my company?”

“You know I do,” she snapped. “ _Your Grace._ Of course I want to be your friend; you’re probably the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“Then what did you mean? Why did you say it?”

“You know what I meant, and you know why I said it.” Cersanne’s voice was small, even to her own ears. “And you also know why what I _do_ want is impossible. Please don’t make me say it.”

She kept her eyes firmly fixed on the floor, looking at the lumps where the grass was pushing through the thin material that had been put down to cover it, and to provide some warmth despite the cold weather.

As she looked at the grass Robb moved closer, until his feet were in her eye line, only centimetres from her own. She tried to pull away as he took her chin in his fingertips, tilting her head up so her brown eyes were forced to meet his blue ones.

“ _Martenya_.”

She blinked, helpless under the weight of his gaze. “I don’t want you to marry the Frey girl, Robb.”

“I don’t want to marry her.”

Cersanne’s heart lurched ridiculously. Of _course_ he didn’t want to marry the Frey girl. He didn’t know her. He didn’t mean it the same way she did.

_He’s not yours._

The warning voice in her head had returned. This time, however, it sounded scarily similar to Robb’s mother.

“I know you don’t. Being told you have to marry someone you don’t know must be terrible.”

Robb laughed, catching Cersanne off guard. “ _Martenya_. I don’t want to marry the Frey girl,” he paused, stroking her cheek softly. “I don’t want to marry her, because I want _you_.”

Cersanne watched as a war raged in those blue eyes she come to love, realising too late what he was considering. She gasped into the kiss, allowing him to pull her closer as her fingers automatically buried themselves in his unruly curls. His beard scratched at her chin as he moved his lips from hers to press gentle, feather light pecks along her jaw.

“ _Robb_.”

With a smile, he moved his lips back to hers, his lips chapped, but surprisingly soft as they danced over hers. Cersanne fought to ignore the screaming warnings in her head, instead focusing on how gentle Robb’s hands were where they held her waist, how soft his curls were.

_He can never be yours._

_You’ll be the death of him._

_He’s not yours._

She pulled Robb closer as the ominous warnings seemed to grow louder, and louder the more she fought to ignore them, allowing him to back her towards her bed, deepening the kiss with every step.  All too soon, however, the need to breathe became impossible to ignore. Reluctantly, she pulled back, breathing heavily as Robb again traced her neck, and jaw with feather light kisses, before resting his forehead against hers.

“You can’t be caught in here,” she whispered breathlessly.

He sighed heavily, a sound Cersanne supposed meant he agreed; albeit reluctantly. He pushed away from her, though his hands never left her waist. “You’re right, of course.”

She laughed, trailing her fingers across his beard. “You should go, before any of the men notice.”

Robb smiled, pressing his lips softly to hers. “Come with me,” he murmured against her lips.

“Go to bed, Robb.”

He grinned, kissing her knuckles before leaving the tent, leaving Cersanne to her scattered thoughts.

_What did I just do?_

* * *

Try as she might, Cersanne couldn’t sleep.

She had been tossing, and turning, for hours on end, listening to the sounds of owls, and other creatures of the night going about their business. She supposed it would be dawn soon enough.

Of course, she knew _why_ she couldn’t sleep.

Her thoughts had been on Robb, and their kisses the night before, however foolish, and reckless they had been. Rather, her thoughts had been on Robb’s words before that first kiss.

‘ _I want you_.’

Cersanne had never considered herself much of a romantic, having always been aware that, as a girl of noble birth, she would almost certainly be married of to some unknown nobleman when she came of age. The thought had bothered her, of course, but she had come to accept it, the way one came to accept the cold weather. An annoyance, but an unchangeable fact. Even so, she had always enjoyed stories such as that of Duncan, the son of King Aegon, who had given up his claim to the throne to marry for love, even if she had thought him a fool when her mother had first told her the story. More so when her mother explained that this had led to King Jaehaerys, the father of the Mad King, taking the throne.

It was these thoughts that made Cersanne laugh at herself as she realised that Robb’s words had had such an impact on her. It was such folly.

She knew the way of the world. Robb had to marry the Frey girl. He had sworn a vow to her grandfather.

_You’re a Frey girl, Cersanne. Technically, marrying you wouldn’t be breaking his oath._

This voice also surprised her. It seemed her wits had left her when Robb had left her tent. Even if it were possible for that to work, she would have to tell Robb the truth about who she was, and she was sure his feelings would change the moment he found out that she was Cersei’s cousin.

_What feelings?_

Another thought that wouldn’t leave her. Here she was, kept awake by Robb’s words, and yet, what had he really said? That he _wanted_ her.  Not that he loved her. Desire meant nothing. Desire got people killed.

Look at what had happened because Rhaegar Targaryen had _wanted_ Robb’s aunt Lyanna.

With a sigh, Cersanne stood. She paced her tent for a few moments before making her decision.

She pulled Robb’s cloak around her, walking into the cold night air. She walked as quietly as she could, keeping an eye on the tents she passed, making sure no one was watching her.

As she reached Robb’s tent, she breathed in deeply, sneaking passed the guards as best as she could. She supposed they had probably noticed her. She felt herself blush.

They’d let her pass because they supposed she was Robb’s mistress.

_Whore._

She pushed into the tent, surprised to see Robb was still awake. She’d assumed he’d be asleep, and that she’d end up walking back to her own tent, as confused as ever.

“Martenya!”

Cersanne put a finger to her lips, shushing him with a small smile. “Hello.”

“Hello,” he whispered, a smile playing on his lips. “What exactly are you doing in my tent in the middle of the night?”

“Actually, I think it’s more the early morning than the middle of the night.”

Robb rolled his eyes good naturedly. “ _Martenya_.”

“I couldn’t sleep. It appears I’m not the only one.”

“Third night in a row.”

For the first time, Cersanne noticed the dark circles under his eyes. “Do you want some company?”

He nodded, gesturing for her to take the seat next to his, looking back at the battle plans as she made herself comfortable.

She looked at his plans, the mahogany coloured lions that stood for the Lannisters catching her eye. “What’s troubling you?”

Robb didn’t answer instead lifting one of the towers that represented the Frey forces. He looked at it thoughtfully. “Four thousand men. Four thousand men following me because I agreed to marry one of Walder Frey’s daughters.”

Cersanne nodded. “It’s a lot of men to risk.”

His head snapped up. “Martenya-” he trailed off as he looked at her.

“You said you wanted me.”

Robb nodded. “I do.”

“ _Want_. You’d risk four thousand men because you _desire_ me?”

He gaped at her.

“You’d risk this war, the lives of your men, however many thousand march for you, for _desire_?”

“Martenya.”

“No. Look what happened to your family because Rhaegar desired your aunt.”

“Martenya, don’t. I am not Rhaegar.”

“I know, but how is this better? Stolen kisses in a tent, whispered words in the middle of the night. Robb-”

“I love you.”

Cersanne felt the air leave her lungs as the silence sat heavily between them. _Love_. “You can’t.”

He stood, moving round the table until he was standing next to her. “I don’t want to marry the Frey girl, because I love you.”

Whatever Cersanne had been expecting when she had made the decision to walk to his tent, if she had been expecting anything, that wasn’t it. She stood, backing away from him slightly, eyes firmly on the Lannister lion that sat atop Robb’s battle plans, not trusting herself to look at him.

“You swore a vow. Walder Frey is a dangerous man to cross, and I can’t let you do so for me.”

Again, Robb caught her chin in his roughly calloused fingers, his grip deceptively gentle. She met his eyes reluctantly.

“This is a terrible idea.”

Before she could say anymore, she found herself wrapped in his arms, his lips hot against hers as she allowed him to guide her back towards the bed.


	9. It's Not A Secret I Try To Hide

“ _Conscience doth make cowards of us all_.”

\- William Shakespeare’s Hamlet.

* * *

 

 

Cersanne was altogether too warm when she awoke.

She blinked against the darkness of the tent, freezing as she realised where she was.

She had almost dared hope that the night before had been a crazy, beautiful dream.

Yet, even Cersanne, with her active imagination, couldn’t have imagined the way Robb’s arms were wound around her, pulling her back flush against his chest.

She turned in his arms, angling herself so they were face to face. Her heart constricted as she watched him, his features slack with sleep making him look younger, and more carefree than she had ever seen him.

Cersanne reached out carefully, gently stroking his beard with her fingertips before tracing his chapped lower lip.

There was no denying it now, even to herself. She was hopelessly in love with him.

_He’s not yours. Not now. Not ever._

One day, and soon, she was going to have to watch him marry the Frey girl. She wasn’t naive enough to think that her feelings, feelings she now knew Robb returned, would be enough to prevent that. Love had no place in the politics of war.  

A million stolen nights in his tent would never be enough.

With a final wistful glance, Cersanne extracted herself from his arms. Pulling her dress, and Robb’s old cloak on as quietly as possible, before slipping from the tent, ignoring Grey Wind’s low whine.

It was still dark outside. Even so, her eyes darted about the encampment, praying silently that no one had seen her.

When she finally reached her own tent, wonky, and perilously close to falling down, she sighed, allowing herself one final scan of the encampment. All she could do now was hope that she had remained unnoticed.

Cersanne dropped onto the stool in front of her mirror unceremoniously. She ran her fingers through the hopeless mess of her hair, pulling it quickly into a messy plait, ignoring the protests of her scalp as she tugged at it.

She spared a quick glance in the cracked mirror she had found in one of the abandoned tents.

She hardly recognised herself.

Her long, blonde hair, once one of the rare features that her mother had always complimented her on, was a mess; even the plait she had forced it into couldn’t hide that, nor the thin layer of dirt that was covering it.

Her dark brown eyes were wide and wilder than she had ever seen them, but remained mostly unchanged. Her lips, always plump and rosy were chapped and a dull reddish colour. She looked a terrible mess.

It was hard to convince herself that Robb’s interest in her hadn’t simply come from the fact that his options were rather limited.

She shook her head, frustrated by her own thoughts, before looking out of her tent.

It was still dark. There would probably be time for a quick wash in the river before the men woke. She grabbed one of the drab brown dresses she usually reserved for trips to the battlefield, studying it in silence.

It had taken several attempts, each more aggressively determined than the last, but most of the blood had finally been washed off. Even now, however, several suspicious stains still lined the worn hem. She supposed this was the reason that most of the men avoided looking at her whenever she chose to wear that particular garment. She folded the dress over her arm; today of all days, she didn’t want to draw any attention to herself.

* * *

 

She hurried to the riverside, setting her dress down on the bank before stripping quickly, gritting her teeth against the icy cold of the water.

She eased herself below the gently lapping waves, breathing sharply at the stinging cold that enveloped her. Even with the layer of grime that clung to her, it would have to be a quick wash.

She scrubbed herself clean, desperately thinking of anything but Robb’s hands on her the night before. What they had done had, at best, been a foolish mistake that simply made the rumours that surrounded them true. At worst, Robb would be considered an oath breaker. The thought of being considered dishonourable would kill him.

She pulled at her hair, doing her best to remove the worst of the mud and forest debris that clung to it. She ignored the pounding headache the combination of her cruel hands and the icy cool of the water created.

The water was too cold to spend much time in, and, as the sun began to rise, she made her way back to the camp, Robb’s cloak fastened tightly around her shoulders.

“G’morning, My Lady.”

She nodded in the soldier’s direction, forcing a smile on her face. “It’s a beautiful morning, Tom.”

He smiled, nodding before continuing on his way. Cersanne watched him on his way for a moment. The smile that had crept onto his face at the mention of his name gave her pause. She would have to be sure to find out as many of the men’s names as possible.

It was small, but it would go some way to repaying their kindness.

Her eyes darted, unbidden, to Robb’s tent before she squared her shoulders, determined to pass it without weakness.

At least until a loud bang from within had her stopping short.

She turned to look along with the soldiers that stood nearby, cringing when Robb’s appeared at the entrance, his face worried.

“Martenya!”

Cersanne cringed as the eyes of the men fell on her. There was no way they didn’t hear the relief in his voice, nor was there any fooling herself that they weren’t aware of why Robb would have been expecting her in his tent so early in the morning.

She didn’t move, too ashamed to go to him. He stepped towards her, his bare chest peeking through the fabric of the tent’s entrance.

With a soft sigh she walked towards him, ignoring the pointed way the men averted their eyes suddenly.

“Your Grace?”

He grabbed her arm gently, trying to pull her into the tent with him, his grip tightening as she resisted gently. “Come inside, Martenya. It’s freezing.”

“Put some clothes on, and I might, Your Grace.”

She yelped as he tugged her inside, steadying her as she crashed into his chest, dropping her dirty dress to the floor.

“Where were you?”

Cersanne frowned, removing herself from his warm embrace. “I went to the river to bathe.” She glanced around the tent; the source of the bang becoming clear as her gaze fell on an overturned table. It contents littered the floor.

“I was worried. I hadn’t expected to wake to an empty bed.”

“ _Robb_.”

She cursed herself spitefully as she weakly allowed him to pull her in for a kiss, melting into his embrace. “Wait-”

“Don’t, Martenya, _please_.”

Cersanne reached up, smoothing his unruly curls. “I have to. I’m sorry, but this can’t change anything.”

“It changes everything.”

She shook her head. “Stop acting like a stubborn child!”

“I’m being stubborn?” He took a step back, dropping his hands from Cersanne’s waist.

“Yes. You are. You’re stubbornly refusing to see sense.”

“ _Martenya_ , I am your  _king_.”

She bit back a grin at his petulant tone. “Right now I’m not talking to my king. I am talking to my friend; _Robb_.”

“Friend?”

“My _friend_ who is engaged to be married. Robb, you swore an oath. Walder Frey is a dangerous man to cross. Your men do not deserve his ire. I would not have it brought on them because of me.”

She smiled at him weakly, ignoring his bewildered expression before darting from the tent.

* * *

 

Some hours later, after she had finally managed to convince herself it wasn’t any use crying over what might have been, she found herself in Lady Stark’s tent, grateful to find the older woman willing to accept her offer of company.

“You look almost as tired as I feel.”

Cersanne sighed, rubbing half heartedly at her eyes. “In truth, I’m afraid I didn’t sleep much last night.”

She felt the heat rising in her cheeks. She hoped the accidental implication would go unnoticed. She turned to look out at the camp, willing the cool breeze to ease her blush.

She watched as the men went about their business; some fixing broken and damaged armour or swords, others carrying feed for the horses, or in the middle of sparring practice. It seemed everyone had a use, a purpose. Everyone it seemed, except her.

Cersanne felt herself stiffen as Robb wandered into view, talking animatedly to the ever stoic Lord Bolton.

She turned to Lady Stark who was watching her eldest son, her expression sad even as a small smile tilted the corners of her mouth. “He was always a handsome one, even as a babe. I always wished he looked more like his father, more Stark. I always thought the Lord of Winterfell should look more Stark than Tully, but; as he grew,” She sighed. “Those Tully eyes, and his auburn curls. I wouldn’t change him for all the world.”

Cersanne considered her words carefully. “His Grace _is_ very handsome.” She swallowed the lump in her throat as she continued. “I wager the Frey girl will be very happy to call him husband. I’m sure many women have wanted to name him such over the years.”

She smiled as she took in Lady Stark’s wary expression. “Even so, I wouldn’t name him such.”

“Oh? And what would you name him, Martenya?”

“A friend.”

Lady Stark’s answering smile was so similar to Robb’s that it took Cersanne off guard. She turned back to the encampment.

She watched as Robb turned his attention to his mother’s tent, sad eyes widening as they met Cersanne’s. He smiled tightly before seemingly excusing Lord Bolton before making his way over.

Cersanne tried not to notice the immediate change in his mother’s demeanour.

“Mother.”  
It took a beat longer than would have usually been considered polite for him to turn his attention from his mother to Cersanne.

“Martenya.”  
She stood quickly. “If you would excuse me, Lady Stark. Your Grace.”

He nodded curtly even as his mother looked between the two of them, Cersanne could see the understanding beginning to dawn on her as she darted from the tent, heart pounding painfully as she slipped from view.

“Oh Robb, what have you done?”  
Cersanne pulled up short, moving closer to the tent, unable to help herself. Her mother would have dropped dead to see her eavesdropping like some sort of common fishwife.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters. Four thousand men, Robb. Four thousand Frey soldiers now follow you because of your promise. Any hint of a scandal, any dishonour on their house. _Robb_. You cannot risk so much for a dalliance with a pretty face.”

“It’s not a dalliance, Mother. Not for me.” He paused. “As I said, it doesn’t matter. Martenya has made her feelings on the matter quite clear.”

Cersanne’s eyes fell closed at the barely concealed hurt in his voice.

“Her expressions betray her. She is fond of you, Robb. Walder Frey is a dangerous man to cross.”  
“I know that.”

She heard Lady Stark sigh. “Do you? Because if I know that look half as well as I think I do by now, I would say you mean to do so regardless.”  
Cersanne’s heart dropped to her stomach.

“I love her.”

A hot tear slid down her cheek. If only it were that easy. If only she could waltz back into Lady Stark’s tent and declare her own love in return, beg him to forgive her for her words earlier.

“I forget how young you are sometimes. I see you around these men and you’re a man. Then I sit with my son and you’re still a boy, still so innocent about so much of the world. If only it were as simple as _love_. Do you think your father and I loved each other when we married? I had never seen him before so I know how  feels, I really do. I wasn’t supposed to wed him, I was supposed to marry your uncle, Brandon. He was so handsome, and tall. Then he died and I married your father. Love didn’t just happen to us. We built it slowly over the years. Stone by stone. For you, for your brothers and sisters. For all of us. It took time, it wasn’t easy but it grew strong. I loved your father and he loved me. I know it’s not as exciting as secret passion, but it is stronger. It lasts longer.”

“And that’s what would be in store for me with one of Walder Frey’s daughters? What you and father had?”  
As much as the thought pained her, Cersanne allowed herself to imagine it. A faceless woman watching as a smiling Robb taught a little boy who shared his auburn curls and bright eyes how to wield a sword.

It was everything he deserved. Everything he wouldn’t be able to have if he chose her.

“Why not? I know your feelings for Martenya are real, and I won’t pretend to think nothing has happened between you, but you cannot go back on your oath for one girl. Why couldn’t you find happiness with Walder Frey’s daughter? Because she may not be beautiful?”

“Now you’re arguing just to argue; because you arranged it.”

“And you agreed to it. You gave him your word. Treat your oaths recklessly and your people will do the same. If your father lived his life for one thing-”

“My father is dead. And the only parent I have left has no right to call anyone reckless.”

There was a tense silence before Catelyn sighed.

Cersanne pressed closer to the tent, her mind whirring as she watched Robb stalk away, his hands clenched in tight fists.

“I know you’re out there, Martenya.”  
A blush crept onto Cersanne’s face as she joined Lady Stark, sitting in Robb’s freshly vacated seat. She looked at Robb’s mother’s face warily, pained to see the deeply troubled expression that marred her still attractive features. “I’m sorry to have eavesdropped. I didn’t-”  
“I understand your interest, Martenya.” She shook her head. “As you surely understand my concern. You must know he means to marry you.”  
Cersanne’s legs felt like lead, she was grateful she was already sitting or she would have ended up on the floor. “He _can’t_.”

Lady Stark grabbed her hand, the strength of her grip surprising Cersanne. “You must convince him of this. Make him see reason. He won’t listen to me. Not after what I did. Martenya, I won’t see my son die for his honour the way his father did.”

“His honour?”

Lady Stark shook her head. “Even when he was a child...Seeing the way Jon Snow grew up. Robb could never father a bastard. If what I think happened between you...”  
Cersanne knew her answering blush was all the confirmation Lady Stark needed.

“I won’t see his honour kill him. Not if I can help it.”  
“Nor would I. But you saw him; you heard him.”

“Reject his proposal.”

“He is relentless. It would only put him off for a matter of days.”

Lady Stark’s grip on Cersanne’s hand tightened painfully. “Then break his heart.”

“Better broken hearted than dead,” Cersanne agreed reluctantly.

* * *

 

She had been avoiding Robb all day. More specifically, she had been avoiding the conversation she knew they had to have. She had made a promise to Lady Stark.

Cersanne sat in her tent, staring blankly at the two pieces of parchment set out in front of her. One was a letter to her she had planned on sending to her brother.

She turned her attention to the still bare page next to the letter. She supposed she had to write to her cousin at least once. Cersei would already be seething at her lack of communication. Only...What was there to write?

Cersei wouldn’t care for pretty niceties, and Cersanne refused to betray Robb in anyway. She wouldn’t give Cersei any hints as to his careful strategies.

A third piece of parchment lay on the floor abandoned out of shame. She blushed as she took in the dozens of harsh scratches that covered the page where she had crossed out line after line.

She had thought to slip away from the camp that night, leaving the letter behind for Robb to find when he inevitably came searching for her. Even as she had tried desperately to find the right words she had known it would be no use. Nothing she could say in a letter would dissuade him. The stubborn fool would be just as likely to ride out after her as he was to let her go.

She couldn’t take the coward’s way out.

“Martenya.”

Cersanne closed her eyes at the sound of the all too familiar voice, exhaling heavily. “Your Grace.”

“Would you join me?”

She shook her head, steeling herself. “That’s not a good idea, Your Grace, and I’m afraid I have a terrible headache.”

He moved forward quickly, resting his hand against her forehead as her septa had done many times when she was a child. “You’re unwell.”

She brushed his hand away gently. “It’s just a headache.”

Robb glanced around the room, she saw his gaze pause on the messy letter on the floor before returning to her. “I suppose here is as good as anywhere.” He dropped to sit on her bed, a small smile ghosting his lips. “I thought I should return this.”

Her eyes fell to the dress in his hands, the one she had dropped on the floor when he had dragged her into his tent the morning after their night together.

"Martenya."

She avoided his eyes, focusing instead on his boots, studying the thick layer of dried mud that coated them. She realised absently that she had never seen him in anything but his thick furs, and battle armour. She wondered what he would look like in the fashions of King’s Landing, or the rest of the South.

She brushed the thought aside, the thought of it too absurd to consider. “Your Grace-”  
“Please, let me speak.”

She shook her head resolutely. “There is little point, I’m afraid. I fear I know what you’re here to say, and I know my own response.”

Even with her obscured view of his face, she could see him frown.

“ _Fear?_ ”

“Of course I fear it. I fear losing you to your stubborn, and horribly misplaced, sense of honour, I fear my own stupid heart, and I fear not being strong enough to say-”

“ _Martenya_!”

“Your Grace, don’t, please.”

“I love you. Martenya, I love you. I love you, and I want to marry you. There is nothing you can say that-”

“There’s someone else!” She blurted before she could think better of it. “I’ve been betrothed this whole time.”

Finally she looked up, torn as to how she should feel when she saw the mix of confusion, and hurt that met her.

“Wha- You never mentioned this before. Why-”  
She shook her head with a bitter laugh. “Why? Why would I? How was I to expect any of,” she waved a hand between the pair of them. “This? Who could have expected you to proclaim your love for a bastard from The Reach?”

His blue eyes narrowed. “You love me too.”

“Yes! Of course-” She cried, anger at the cruelty of the world making her voice catch on the words. “Of course I love you.”  
Robb reached out for her hands, grabbing them before she could pull them away, his prior eagerness returning. “Do you love him?”

She met his eyes. “Do you really think I would have gone to bed with you if I was in love with another man? I don’t even know him. Not that it matters. _I_ will not break my promise.”

Robb shrugged off the thinly veiled criticism with a small wry smile. “And if our, _encounter_ , has left you carrying my child? Do you really think this man would be happy raising another man’s child?”

“There’s no way of know-” Cersanne scowled, pulling her hands from his. “So what if I am? If I left know I could be home within a week. I could be married within the month. He’d never have to know.”

“ _You_ would.” Robb raised an eyebrow, his words were a challenge.

She hated the fact that she could feel herself rising to it.

“I was about to leave.”Cersanne reached down, picking up the formerly discarded letter. “I was going to leave a note.”

She shoved it into his hands.


	10. I'm Not Made of Stone

     “ _ Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs _ .”

        - William Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet.

* * *

 

 

Cersanne missed Robb terribly.

In the month since his disastrous  _ almost _ proposal, he had kept his distance. Almost comically so. 

During the now rare moments in which they were alone together, he kept his hands firmly to himself. If their hands so much as accidentally brushed as they passed one another, he would recoil as if bitten, or stung, and he made sure she noticed that they were almost never alone anymore.

It would have been insulting, the way he seemed to immediately find an excuse to leave once they were alone, were it not for the fact that Cersanne was almost painfully aware that he was only doing as she had requested.

She missed him. Not the intimacy of that reckless night together in his tent, but the easy companionship that been built during the months that had come before.

Robb might not have known the entire truth of her circumstances, but she had shared so much with him; so many of her thoughts, and fears. Her hopes, and dreams. He was the closest confidante she had ever had outside of her brothers. From what she could tell, the feeling had been mutual.

Now, that tension that had existed between them hang heavily in their air. The elephant in the room. She hated it. Worse still was the fact that she knew it was entirely her own fault. She had no one to blame but herself. It would have been so easy to leave his tent that night. So easy to just say no, and yet she had given into her own weakness. 

She had, at least, finally left the fear of a pregnancy behind her.

It shamed her to think of how Lady Stark had caught her with the ingredients for Moon Tea laid out in her tent. They hadn’t spoken about it since, but Cersanne couldn’t get the image of the older woman’s expression from her mind.

It had been her lowest moment. Having woken from a terrifying dream in which Robb appeared, headless, like his father with Lady Stark at his side, throat slit to the bone, pointing at her, blaming her. 

She’d woken in a cold sweat, knowing what she had to do. Yet, as she had sat there staring at the ingredients she had collected, surprisingly easy to find in the forest that surrounded their last camp, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it. That was when Lady Stark had arrived, seemingly summoned by the commotion Cersanne had caused when she had first awoken.

Her month’s blood had arrived shortly afterwards, finally alleviating Cersanne’s fear once and for all. 

She was disgusted to find that there was a part of her that was disappointed, that had been secretly clinging to the hope that she was carrying Robb’s child. A selfish part that would have settled for some small part of Robb that no one could take away. 

She could have watched him marry the Frey girl if she had been able to hold their baby in her arms.

* * *

 

It was late in the evening when Lady Stark arrived at Martenya’s tent, flanked by the guards that still shadowed her every movement. 

“Martenya, may I have a word?”

Cersanne nodded, inviting the other woman to sit across from her. “I was just finishing my meal, please, sit.”

Lady Stark turned to the burly guard closest to her. “You may wait outside.”

The guards exchanged an unsure glance, their stances growing wary as they eyed Lady Stark.

“I assure you, Martenya and I are not plotting my escape.”

They each turned to look at Cersanne who raised an eyebrow, before leaving with matching shrugs.

The two women stood in silence for several moments, Cersanne eyed the last of her bread mournfully, wondering if it would be terribly rude to break the silence with the sound of her chewing as Lady Stark seemed to weigh her words carefully.

The silence was finally broken when Lady Stark cleared her throat softly. “We have to talk about what happened, Martenya.”

Cersanne felt herself blushing as she realised where the conversation was headed. “I’m sorry. I was desperate.”

Lady Stark took her hands gently. “You should have come to me, Martenya. Moon Tea can be very dangerous.”   


“You’re not angry?”

“Angry? No, I’m not angry. I understand why you would consider it.”

“I’m so ashamed.”

The older woman patted her wrist. “We’ll speak no more of it.”

Cersanne felt the tension in her shoulders ease as she smiled gratefully. “I don’t know how I can ever repay the kindness you have shown me. I don’t deserve it.”

Lady Stark shook her head vehemently. “Falling love with the wrong person isn’t a crime, Martenya.”

“ _ We don’t choose who we love. _ ” Cersanne was frustrated to find herself quoting something she had heard her cousins say on numerous occasions.

“No indeed. But we do choose _how_ we love, and what we are willing to sacrifice for those we love.”

“I wish Robb saw it the same way.”

As if summoned by the mention of his name, Robb appeared at the entrance of Martenya's tent. 

“Mother?”

Cersanne bolted upright, avoiding Robb’s questioning look. “I’ll leave you to talk.” 

S he moved to walk from the tent, stopping short as Robb stepped into her path, shaking his head.

“This is your tent, Martenya.”   


“I insist. At any rate, I need some fresh air.”

The pair stood awkwardly facing each other in a strange sort of stand off. Cersanne was acutely aware of his mother watching them too closely.

“If you’ll excuse me.  _ Please _ .”

With a soft sigh, Robb finally stepped aside before catching her arm, tugging her to face him. “See if you can find Grey Wind, would you?”

She nodded, pulling her arm free from his hand. 

“He’s been missing you."

Cersanne ducked from the tent before she could read too much into that seemingly innocent statement.

* * *

 

Cersanne wandered aimlessly for several hours, Grey Wind staying close to her side since the moment she had found him hunting rabbits a short distance from the camp.

She ran her fingers through his fur, the coarse brush of it against her fingers strangely soothing as she stared at the bright moon. 

“It’s such a mess, Grey Wind.”

The giant direwolf turned his great head in her direction, his brilliant yellow eyes appraising her solemnly. It was an impressively weighty gaze; at least until his red tongue lolled out of his mouth as he yawned with a soft whine.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Cersanne grinned, a giggle escaping her as she watched him. “You great daft lump.”

He pressed his considerable weight against her as she scratched behind his ears.

“ _Ooof!_ You’ll have me over! You overgrown puppy!”

“I see you found him.”

Cersanne jumped, spinning to face the sound of Robb’s voice. 

He smiled softly as she spotted him, leaning against a tree a few metres away. 

“How long have you been stood there?”

He raised an eyebrow, clicking his tongue as he held a hand out for Grey Wind.

The direwolf bounded over happily, tail wagging as if he were a simple hunting hound rather than a mammoth beast that struck terror in the hearts of those that beheld him.

“Not long. I just thought someone should make sure you got back to the camp safely.”

Cersanne frowned. “I’m sure Grey Wind could’ve managed.”

  
Robb moved closer, Grey Wind strutting happily at his side. “I do believe the words you were actually looking for were ‘ _t_ _ hank you, Your Grace _ ’.”

She stepped back as he neared. “ _ Thank you, Your Grace _ , for your totally unnecessary help. The debt is paid.”

“What debt?”

“My forcing you to see sense. You’ve kept me safe tonight, and I’ve been trying to do the same. Thus, we are even."

“Martenya, you’re doing it again.”

She shook her head. “If you’re about to say I’m being stubborn-”

  
“I am.” Robb smiled. “Unfortunately, I’ve come to quite like that about you.”   


He grabbed her hand, pulling her into his arms. 

“Stop it! Someone will see.”

He rolled his eyes. “I can barely see you, and you expect someone from the camp to see us out here?”

_ He’s right. _   


She cursed the weak part of herself that was whispering at her to just kiss him. One stolen kiss wouldn’t hurt.

“King or not, I will stomp on your foot if you don’t let go of me.”   
A surprised bark of laughter burst from him catching them both by surprise as he let her hands slip from his as he stepped back.

“I’ve missed you. Before you look at me like that, I mean I’ve missed talking to you. I’ve missed my friend.”   


Cersanne felt her heart constrict. Her voice came out barely above a whisper. “I’ve missed my friend too. Can we start over?”

He sighed. “No.”

Cersanne let out an involuntary squeak, heart sinking even as he laughed, reaching out for her again.

“We can’t start again, but I would like for us to be friends again. Properly.”

“Can you keep your hands to yourself?”

“Can you?”

“Robb! I’m serious.”

His answering smile was blinding. “So am I.”

* * *

 

Returning to their friendship had worked well.

For a while at least.

The tension that had built between them abated, fading into a distant, uncomfortable memory that was replaced by the steady, easy companionship that Cersanne had craved and missed.

Maybe it was just that she had somehow managed to forget about it for a while, but Cersanne had almost convinced herself that she would be able to watch him marry Walder Frey’s daughter, that she could finally move on from her misplaced affection. 

At least until the topic came up between them. 

“I suppose we’ll have to visit Walder Frey soon enough. We’re getting closer and closer to his lands.”

Cersanne turned to look at Robb as he twist a blade of grass between his fingers. “We are?” It was embarrassing how little attention she had been paying to their movements. She really was the worst spy in Westerosi history.

He nodded. "I'd finally be able to give him my condolences for the death of his son; Stevron. He was a good man."

Cersanne nodded. "He was, Your Grace."

A thought seemed to occur to Robb as he nodded. “Maybe I’ll finally get to meet his daughter. It would be nice to see her at least once before we’re married.”

Cersanne’s heart thumped viciously against her ribs. She fought to keep her tone light. “You might even get to learn her name.”

  
A grin ghosted over his lips, not quite reaching his eyes. “I hope it’s not  _ Walda _ .”

Cersanne reluctantly searched through her memories of her aunts. There were too many. She could barely remember the names of five of them. “Even I know that he has enough that the odds of you choosing one named  _ Walda _ are small. How do you plan to choose?”

“The prettiest, I s’pose.”

“ _Robb_!”

He laughed. “How else does a man chose a wife that’s already picked for him?”

Cersanne shook her head. “Personality, intelligence; I don’t know.”

He turned to face her properly. “I don’t know any of his daughters. How am I to know who has the best personality, or knows the most?”

“It’s like you said, if you meet them before the end of this awful war, then you’ll have a chance.”

“And if not?”

Cersanne rolled her eyes. “Then I suppose you’ll  _ have _ to choose the prettiest one," she acquiesced exasperatedly.

“She won’t be as pretty as you, Martenya, don’t worry.”

She swatted his hand away good-naturedly, ignoring how loudly her heart pounded at his words. 

“Has your brother sent any news about  _ your _ betrothed?”

His words startled her. Since that awful conversation in her tent, the subject had never come up. It had been a silent agreement between them.

“Only that my mother has almost chosen between the two brothers.”

It wasn’t really a lie. Of course, her mother hadn’t been _actively_ looking for a husband for Cersanne, not while Tywin was too busy with the war to use his influence, but there had been several mentions since Cersanne had flowered of brothers vying for her hand. 

It was all quite ridiculous.

“It seems folly to have settled on a betrothal without any certainty about the groom. I suppose she’s afraid they’ll change their mind about attaching one of their sons to a bastard.”

Robb flinched. 

Cersanne pretended she didn’t notice, plastering a smile on her face. “Maybe I should just take the black, say hello to Jon Snow for you.”

  
Robb matched her grin with one of his own. “The Night’s Watch don’t take women. Never have.”

“Maybe it’s time they did.”

"Maybe." He sighed, looking at the camp. “It’s time I was heading back. Lord Bolton will be looking for me.”   


“I wish it could be you.”

His thumb brushed against her knuckles softly. She exhaled shakily as she met his eyes.

“Looking to discuss battles with you?”

Her attempt at humour sounded flat even to her own ears.

Robb leaned forward. “That’s not what I meant.”

She nodded, pulling her hand from his. “I know.”

He frowned before turning to walk back to the camp, his curls dancing gently in the cold breeze of the afternoon wind.

Cersanne sighed. 

_ Friends. _

 


End file.
